Kin Recognition
by the morrighan
Summary: Genetic links are not the only ties that bind.
1. Chapter 1

Kin Recognition

Gray.

The world had turned to gray. Gray skies. Gray landscape. The mountains swathed in a gray mist that made them seem impermanent, ephemeral. As if they would wash away as the rain poured in a torrential gray curtain. The air was chill, almost too wet to breathe. Words came out in vaporous clouds which were subsumed by the water and the gloom.

John Sheppard stood at the window. Staring out at the morose landscape. He shifted, uncomfortable in his dress blues. But the weather matched his mood. His temperament. He folded his arms across his chest. Then clasped his hands behind his back. Waiting. Waiting. Stranded in the SGC, in General Hammond's office like a fish out of water. The phrase made him briefly smile, but the smile faded as he thought of Moira O'Meara.

Almost two months. Since he had last seen her. Before she had returned to Earth to tend her dying grandmother. By the time he had returned to Atlantis from a mission she was already en route. He had been forced to wait, to wait until the Daedalus finally made its ponderous way back to the Pegasus galaxy. And then connive, convince Elizabeth Weir to let him hitch a ride on the next trip to Earth to retrieve Moira. To be with her.

He pursed his lips together. Things had been rather oddly strained between Moira and himself. After the debacle of the suggestion of her getting a closer room to his. How the discussion had escalated into talk of adjoining rooms, the same room, until the dreaded M word was mentioned and to his surprise he had learned that she once had a fiancee. A fiancee who was now deceased. But there was more to it than a mere death. But Moira could not, or would not speak of it. Had forgiven him for inadvertently blurting it out to Rodney McKay, who had told Katie Brown.

He had stopped that story from spreading, he was certain. Still there was an awkwardness between them now. As if Moira was trying to pull back from him. Even as he was considering a more serious commitment to her, surprising himself.

John sighed. Stepped round the desk, impatient. Annoyed. Delayed yet again as he waited, waited for the general who wanted to speak to him. He perused the piles of papers, reports. He eyed the computer screen. Stared. Stepped closer to see a list of names. The transfer list. The next rotation of personnel that would be sent back to Earth from Atlantis, to be reassigned. Most would never return to the Pegasus galaxy. John's eyes roved over the names, noting some he had suggested. Others he had not.

He came to one name. His heart skipped a beat. His breath caught in his throat.

Moira O'Meara.

* * *

The rain was ceaselessly pouring, pouring. Turning the ground into mud. Erasing the dusting of snow on the dead grass. Filling the empty grave even as it was lowered into the ground. Moira clutched her umbrella tightly. Hands chilled to the bone as she stared at the ornate black coffin. Flowers drooping along its length as it descended into the ground. She shivered. Felt a bleakness that was constantly wrapped around her.

At least her grandmother was at peace. All pain gone. The long illness finally taking its toll. Leaving a once vibrant woman nearly lifeless, skeletal, but still clinging to life until it became too much. Until she was ready to let go. The funeral almost a release. No more suffering to witness. To watch helplessly as there was nothing anyone could do. The only thing left was to honor her memory. To remember her as she once was. Not as she had become during those last painful weeks.

Moira glanced round to see her relatives departing. Talking in low tones. Gazes finally not on her. Whispered comments finally not about her. The past shrouding her so tightly it was all that they could see, that anyone could see. Moira's fingers tightened further on the umbrella. Wishing that John was with her. Yearning for his strength, his support. His love to envelope her, to shield her. But she knew it could not be. It could not last. If he were ever to learn the truth about her he would never look at her in the same way. Better to try to end it now before that happened.

Still she couldn't help but want him. Long for him. Love him in a way she never thought she would allow herself to do. She sighed. Turned as her aunt touched her elbow. A summons to leave. One not to be denied. Moira nodded, followed the stern older woman to the waiting car.

Thoughts flitting again to the one source she needed to get through the ordeal. To get through the next round of silent blame and accusations.

John Sheppard.

* * *

They were going to take her away from him. They were going to take her permanently from him. If he was lucky he might be able to see her in six months. Only if she was reassigned to the Pegasus galaxy. Only if he was able to somehow manage to get back to Earth if she was not. He knew the nightmare of red tape and bureaucracy that would ensue. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He stepped back round, moved to the window to glare at the rainfall.

"Colonel, sorry I had to keep you waiting," George Hammond's Texas drawl broke into John's tangled emotions like a cold breeze. "Please, take a seat. I understand you are here for personal reasons?"

John turned, moved to the chair but did not take it as George stepped round the desk. Seated himself and amiably eyed the younger man. "Yes, sir."

George glanced down at a stack of papers. Back up to John. "For Doctor O'Meara. I'm afraid you are missing the funeral, or rather you will by the time you reach her. Or so I've been informed."

"Sir?" John asked, trying to subdue his anger. Could only imagine what Moira must be enduring. Alone. From what he had gleaned her relatives were not on the best of terms with her.

"We've got eyes on her. Just in case. We like to keep track of our people. The driver," he informed. "Standard protocol. You understand."

"Yes, sir."

"And you are probably wondering why I am wasting your time here when you need to be there." He smiled at John's quick flash of surprise. "Yes, son, I can tell. Although you hide it very well. As long as you are here we just need to clear up a few things." He patted a stack of reports on his desk. "Or rather the IOA wants you to clear up some things. I said I would handle it. Better me than them or else you'd never get off this base."

"Thank you, sir." John reluctantly took the offered seat at last. "What particular things need to be cleared up, sir?"

"Just some details about the Wraith. About..." George consulted the stack, lowering his bald head to read, "a certain retro-virus, and some incursions by hostile entities. Oh, and compromised personnel." He flipped through the pages, looked up to see the despair and frustration flit across John's face before he schooled his expression. "I'm sorry, son, but it has to be done. As quickly as we can, I assure you."

"Thank you, sir." John fidgeted, but forced himself to become still. Calm. Blocking all thoughts of Moira from his mind. "So...where do we start?"

* * *

Moira shook the rain off her coat. Water flung in all directions. She folded the umbrella, hung both on the coatrack and slowly entered the living room. It was strange to be walking in high heels again, not to mention a dress. She smiled briefly, imagining John's amusement. A smirk on his handsome face. But she banished all thoughts of him as the grim reception chilled her. White lilies dominated, stark against the crimson and gold furnishings. People clustered in quiet groups, nibbling on sandwiches. Talking of inconsequential things like the weather, like sports, like the latest movie. All avoiding the subject at hand.

"I didn't think you would stay for the funeral."

Moira turned to face her aunt. "Of course I would. Why would you think I–"

"You didn't attend the last one, now did you?" Peggy Collins remarked. Nose wrinkling in obvious superiority. Judgement.

Moira was silent. Bracing herself for the onslaught. The inevitable round of blame. Of the past rearing its ugly head again. Of the funeral of her fiancee she had not attended. Could not attend. But her aunt merely made a noise in her throat, turned and stepped to a cluster of guests. Ever the gracious hostess.

Moira moved to the window. Watched the endless fall of heavy rain. Beating down the leafless branches of the trees. Sluicing into rivers along the barren driveway. She hugged herself. Felt a wave of unshed tears, of panic assaulting her. Knew she needed a friendly voice, a warm voice. Even though John was unavailable there was someone else she could rely on to aid her.

She turned, moved to a man with red hair. "Brian, may I borrow your cell phone?"

The man eyed her. Gaze a mixture of pity, of blame, of uncertainty. Nevertheless he handed it to her without a word.

"Thank you." Moira felt all the eyes on her. She escaped them, walked into the kitchen. Fingers dialing as she went.

* * *

John stood. Stared at the modest ranch house perched up on the sloping driveway. The rain pouring all around him, on him as he slid his hands into the pockets of his coat. The dark gloom of the late afternoon casting a pall over everything. The patches of snow on the ground weakly reflected the blinking Christmas lights adorning the gutter of the house. The strange incongruity of the lights and the funeral reception made him frown. That time after Thanksgiving and before Christmas, as if the world was holding its breath in anticipation of moving from one holiday to the next. He had nearly forgotten that feeling.

It was strange to be back on Earth. Especially at this time of year. A bleak, early December. Rousing himself he climbed up the drive. Dress shoes shining in the rain, reflecting the colored lights as he passed under them. He knocked on the door. Was admitted by a young woman who appeared surprised at his unexpected arrival. The stranger in their midst.

His black trench coat was dripping wet. Creating tiny pools of water on the cream-colored carpet. With an apologetic shrug John handed it over to the girl. She took it silently, wide staring eyes fixated on him. He crossed the hallway, entered the living room. Quickly removed his hat, stuck it under his arm. Surveyed the crowd of mourners. A piano was being played, a slow, melancholy dirge. The scent of lilies was heavy. Cloying. John scanned the crowd again. Frowned, not seeing Moira. Briefly wondered if he was at the wrong reception.

"Young man, may I help you?"

John looked at the older woman standing in front of him. Reddish hair swept up into a severe bun, matching her severe expression. Eyes suspicious. Brows furrowed. "Yes, thank you. I'm looking for Moira O'Meara," he said politely.

"And you are...." she asked dryly, as if not believing him.

He unconsciously straightened his shoulders, his back. "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, USAF." At her blank look he continued, "Doctor O'Meara and I are colleagues."

"Colleagues?" the woman scoffed, wrinkling her nose. "I'm sorry, lieutenant, was it?"

"Lieutenant colonel," he corrected quietly, emphasizing the last word.

"Exactly how do you know my niece?" the woman continued, oblivious to his correction.

_Ah_, John thought. This was the aunt the SGC had mentioned. Had warned him about in what he had believed were exaggerated terms. John cleared his throat, a discreet sound. _Exactly? I know her exactly because I'm the guy exactly fucking her into repeated orgasms. _But aloud he said, "Moira and I work together."

"Work together?" the woman asked, clearly disbelieving. "Tell me, lieutenant–"

"Colonel," he quietly corrected again, with just a slight edge to his voice to make her eyes widen slightly.

"How is it that an air force major and a cryptozoologist would ever be working together in the first place?" she snidely asked.

John's gaze narrowed. "Colonel. Paleozoologist. And I'm afraid that is classified intel," he tersely, yet calmly asserted.

The woman raised a brow. Eyed him a moment. "In the back. She wanted to be alone. No doubt calling that disgrace of an uncle."

"Thank you." John stepped round her. Past the staring crowd. Women's gazes raking over him. He walked into the kitchen. Paused.

Moira was leaning on a counter, talking on a cell phone. One knee bent as her high-heeled shoe dangled from her toes. Her hair was loosely tied back, strands spilling down her back. She wore a long-sleeved black dress, snugly covering her rear, hugging her delicious curves. Black hose lining her legs. John wondered if she had on matching black underwear. Chided himself for such a thought at the most inappropriate time.

His gaze traversed her body again, unable to stop as it had been two very long months. He took a step to see her profile. The black dress snug over her breasts. He could imagine moving to her, pushing her up onto the counter and shoving the dress up out of the way, but his more immediate emotion surprised him. A burst of tender concern, of love that momentarily halted all sexual desires as he saw her sorrow. Could hear it in her voice as she talked quietly.

Moira was tracing circles on the counter as she talked, shifted her stance slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that, uncle. But you are better off there, believe me."

"Don't I know it," the Irish voice on the other end of the line agreed. "But I should be there for you, Moira. Tell me you're not alone there."

"I'm fine. I...there was no one to come with me. Besides, you think I want my friends to be subjected to–"

"No!" he laughed. "I guess not. Not even this...what's his name fellow?"

She briefly smiled. "John."

John smiled over the way she had said his name. Hesitated, not wanting to interrupt.

"No," she resumed sadly, "he would have but he was, um, unavailable. Besides, as brave as he is Aunt Peggy would have eaten him for breakfast."

John smirked, agreeing. Loath to intrude he waited.

"It's serious then," the uncle commented.

"What? How did you...oh...maybe...I, I don't know," Moira stammered.

"I can hear it in your voice, love. About bloody time too! Good thing you have those rings."

"What?" she exclaimed, hand freezing over them as they rested on the counter. "No! I mean, no, of course I'll cherish the rings since they were from grandma, but no. He'd never...I'd never...I mean, he, he cares for me and all but not...I mean...it's complicated for both of us," she stammered, feeling a blush on her face. A dread. She swallowed.

"Never is an awfully long time, love. So they've brought him up again, have they?"

"How did you...yes,"she admitted. "It's how they see me now, uncle. The funeral only made things worse. They..I couldn't not think of...all those eyes on me, waiting. Waiting, just waiting for me to..." She bit her lower lip.

"You haven't, have you?"

"No...I haven't...it's not the same, like before. I have...I have John...John's waiting for me in Atlan...Atlanta," she corrected awkwardly.

"Atlanta? Are you saying he couldn't get a flight out of Atlanta to–"

"Not exactly. It's not his fault. He didn't even know about this and–"

"That's no bloody excuse!" the uncle flared. "It's not like he was on the other side of the world!"

"Well, actually, it was something like that. I mean, he's not...look, I can't really go into it now, okay? It's, it's wonderful, uncle!" she gushed, but sighed. "Or it was until I put my foot into it."

"Moira, you have to let it go. You have to at some time. And this what's his name fellow–"

"John," she reminded.

"Whatever, sounds like he's the one to do it. I'd better let you go. Get out of there fast, Moira. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you."

"I'm leaving ASAP, uncle, so don't worry."

"ASAP? What the hell is that? Another code?"

She smiled. "Sorry...I'm picking up John's lingo, I guess. I'll call you when I can." Moira snapped the phone shut. Set it aside. Stared forlornly at it, feeling tears. Sorrow. Regret. Hearing a noise she straightened, slipped her foot back into her shoe. Snatched the rings and slipped them into her pocket. Turned. Stared. So startled she forgot to speak.

John stood a step from the doorway. Unbelievably handsome in his dress blues uniform. Water sparkled in his disordered hair. His brilliant green eyes were warm, intense. A solemn expression on his handsome face only added to the luster of his appearance. He stared back at her, for a moment not sure what to say.

Moira caught herself, smirked. "How long have you been standing there staring at my ass, Sheppard?"

He smiled. "Not long enough, O'Meara. I was so captivated by the way that dress fits so snugly over your pert little ass I lost all track of time. I've crossed galaxies to see it. Moira." In three strides he was with her.

"John." She hugged him. He enfolded her into his arms. Kissed her brow. "Oh John!" she whispered, the weight of emotion almost too much as she clung. Hid her face against his solid warmth. Too overcome to speak. Needing a moment, just this moment with him to let all the sorrow, all the regret, all the misery wash over her as he supported her. She pulled back. "How–"

John brushed his lips across hers. Touched her rosy cheek. "I'm sorry, sweetheart! I only just found out about your grandmother. I'm sorry. I would have been here sooner but I had to go over some stupid reports at the SGC. When I got back from M6RT12 you were already gone."

"It's not your fault, John! You couldn't–"

"No, Moira, it's not my fault, but damn it I should have been informed! Why didn't you let Lorne or even Carson come with you? Or Katie? Anyone?"

"I...I didn't need anyone, John. And it's better if I come alone."

"What? Why? Because of Cruella de Ville back there?"

She smiled. "Ah...you've met Aunt Peggy?"

"And barely lived to tell the tale. Geez, Moira, you could have warned a guy," he joked.

"Sorry, John." She gently freed herself, staring at him. "Damn, John...I've never seen you in dress blues before...you...wow..."

"Yeah, well, I would have worn a suit but you wouldn't believe how many doors this opens," he touched the blue fabric. He snatched his hat off the floor where he had dropped it. Drew her back into his arms, kissed her. A long, savoring kiss. "Two months, baby. Two long, lonely months," he said into her ear. "Moira...no one is taking you from me. No one."

"What?" she asked, trying to free herself but he kissed her again. Drawing her body to his.

He freed her. "Nothing. Are you ready to leave, baby?"

She smiled. "Yes, sweetie. If we can make it past the piranhas, that is."

"Don't you worry. I've got my gun." He put on his hat. Offered his arm to her. "Hold on tight, sweetheart. But you'll need to save me from Cruella. Deal?"

She smiled. "Deal, honey." She took his arm. "Where–"

"Don't you worry, baby. You're under my purview now." He led her out of the kitchen. People stared, gawked as he guided her through the crowd. Past staring, open-mouthed women. Past suspicious men. He noted the hostility, the disapproval directed not towards him but towards Moira, and wondered. Knew better than to ask. He led her to the front where the girl still stood, an array of coats at her back. "Our coats, please. Do you need to do anything here, Moira? Moira?"

Moira was staring at him too. Then eyed the spectators warily. "No. Let's, let's just go back to the SGC, John, please," she said softly. Eyes on the carpet now as the same old disparagement hit her. She looked up to see him put on his coat. It was still damp from the rain, dripping. He held out hers, helped her into it. She wrapped it close when he suddenly pulled her into his arms. Kissed her. A long, passionate kiss. Seductive. Persuasive as her lips opened. As his tongue glided teasingly in for a brief moment.

He pulled back, smiled at her. Turned slightly, arm still firmly around her waist. The other free as he adjusted the hat on his head. "Oh. Just so you know, we do more than just work together," John informed the spectators. "See ya. Oh...sorry for your loss."


	2. Chapter 2

Kin Recognition2

John led Moira out of the house. Into the pouring rain. "Sorry, honey. I know that was wildly inappropriate but I had the feeling it was necessary," he said quickly.

"John–" she began, flustered.

He pulled her down the sloping driveway. "Can you yell at me in the limo, baby, and not in this fucking monsoon?"

"John! That was wonderful!" She stopped him, pulling him towards her to embrace him. To kiss him passionately. He responded, arms encircling her. Mouth locked with hers. Until she stepped back from him. "Limo?" He laughed at her surprised expression. She turned her head to see a long black limousine waiting.

"Yes, Moira. That's for us." He led her to the car, opened the door. Ushered her inside it, playfully swatting her rear as she ducked to enter the vehicle.

"John!" she scolded over her shoulder. He got in after her, closed the door. Rapped on the divide blocking them from the driver. She stared at him as the car swerved into the street, then down it. Buffeted by the rain beating on the hood and sides it noisily splashed water as it sped along. "John? Why the fancy car?"

He smiled, slipped his arm around her. Kissed her. "Moira...look, I sort of..." he paused, eyes moving down to see her skirt rumpled up past her knees.

She kissed him, touching his jaw. Angling his mouth to hers. His eyes off her lap. "John, no. No way. No limo sex."

He grinned. "Really? Oh come on, Moira! Why not? It's just a little kinky, is all." He ran his hand up her thigh, fingers sliding under the dress until she caught stopped him.

"Behave, colonel. Tsk tsk. In uniform, no less," she fondly scolded.

"I can remove the uniform, sweetheart. Moira," he tried again, "look, I know this is lousy timing. I mean, circumstances aren't the best and you can always say no."

"What are you talking about, John?"

"Look, Moira," he began again, oddly awkward, "I'm sorry about your grandmother. I wish I had been there. But I'm here now. You're here now. We're both here now."

"Yes, we are. Your powers of observation are quite remarkable, colonel. Is that it?"

He smirked. Scowled. "No! Look, Moira," he attempted, "I'm just saying we're both here. Now. Together. Just us. I know the circumstances are lousy, and you can always say no. And I will understand, I will. I just, um..."

She suddenly smiled. "John Sheppard! Are you trying to ask me out on a date?"

He sighed, scowled at her amusement. "Yes, Moira O'Meara, that is exactly what I am doing."

"Trying to do, you mean," she noted.

"Trying to do," he agreed with a shrug. "I mean..." He looked out of the window suddenly. Sheets of rain obscured his view of the passing cars. "I sort of, um, arranged things. On my way here. I wanted us to go out. I mean really go out and dress up, have a fantastic dinner. Real food, real wine. And I sort of, um, booked a hotel room. A really nice one with an honest-to-God really big bed, Moira. But if you'd rather have a quiet meal instead I will understand. I will. Is all I'm saying."

"Is all you're trying to say," she teased, captivated by his thoughtfulness. Even more by his awkwardness. She touched his hand as it still rested on her knee. Making him meet her gaze with a pained expression. "It sounds wonderful, sweetie! Just what I need! And you're right, we should take advantage of us both being here now. Since we'll have to leave tomorrow, won't we?"

He relaxed. "Yes. Good!" He kissed her.

"I'll have to go back to the SGC and get my stuff. I've already packed but I don't have a fancy–"

"Don't you worry, baby. I took the liberty of taking your stuff to the hotel with mine. As for a fancy dress...we need to make a couple of stops before we reach the hotel." He tensed suddenly, feeling the butterflies in his stomach but shoved them aside.

"John?" She eyed the window, embarrassed. "I, um, look, John...I don't exactly have the, the means right now to, um, splurge on a fancy–"

"Don't you worry, Moira. I'm going to spoil you. Ah."

"Ah? What?" she asked as the car stopped. "John?"

John smiled. He got out of the car. Sprinted round it to open her side. Held out his hand. Moira smiled at his unexpected chivalry. Took his hand and got out of the vehicle. He led her into a boutique. Straight to the counter as she stared round at the fancy dresses. Fancy shoes. Two long rows of mirrors reflecting the store's lights, the Christmas lights outside. Dress after dress arrayed for inspection. Approval. Purchase. The plush blue carpet softened their footsteps.

"May I help you? Oh!" The salesgirl gushed, eyes devouring him.

John smiled, glanced down at the desk. "I set up an account here, earlier today. Colonel John Sheppard."

"Oh, yes..." she glanced at the paper, nodded. "Are you–"

"Anything this lady wants. Is hers. Anything. Charge it all to my account."

"John! No!" Moira protested as the girl dreamily watched him.

John led her further into the shop, glancing at the array of dresses. "Don't you fuss, Moira. I'm going to spoil you whether you like it or not."

"John! No! These dresses are too expensive!" she whispered, frowning. "I don't care how well off you are there's no way I'm letting you buy anything here! It will take me months to pay you back and then you...oh...wait, if I can return it then maybe, just maybe..."

He laughed. "Are you Cinderella now? No, Moira. I want you to do this. For me."

"John, no! I can't! I won't!" She stubbornly folded her arms across her coat.

John smiled. "You will." He kissed her. "I've got a few errands to run, so we'll meet back at the limo in say...thirty? Pick anything, whatever, how many, I don't care. Just make it sexy. And low cut. And sexy. Did I say sexy, Moira?"

"John!" She was torn between laughter and chagrin. "You can't–"

"Back in thirty at the limo, baby. So stop wasting time arguing. And make it sexy!" He turned. Abruptly left her standing there.

Moira stared after him. Shook her head.

"Wow!" The salesgirl joined her. "That is some gorgeous, generous guy you've got there! How did you ever land him?"

Moira shrugged. "I have no idea," she muttered.

* * *

John exited the jewelry store. Patted his pocket where two boxes were securely hidden. He paused under an overhang, momentarily shielded from the rain. Watched it drape the streets and buildings in a mist of gray. Colored lights gleamed on the pavement. Were reflected in the shop windows. He fingered the boxes with a cold hand, once more considering his decision. Once more wondering if he should proceed. And when. Feeling a sudden cold that had nothing to do with the weather and more to do with his own doubts. His own nerves.

He glanced at his watch. Darted across the street suddenly and entered a bar. The darkness enfolded him. The stultifying warmth and the colored lights drew him to the interior. He stood, ordered a Scotch. Glanced at the assorted patrons ignoring him. Lost in their own contemplations, their own miseries or joys. He eyed the amber liquid. Downed it slowly. Letting it's warmth travel through him. He licked his lips. Tapped the glass to order another.

The bartender poured more into the small glass. "Troubles, buddy?"

"Yeah. Sort of. I might be making a momentous, um, decision. Question."

"Oh." The bartender nodded. "And you're not sure she'll say yes."

John met his gaze. It always astounded him how bartenders knew exactly what you were saying and what you weren't saying. "That obvious? Yeah...but no, she'll say yes. At least I think she will say yes," he mused. Downed the drink in long swallows.

"Oh. Then you're the hold out, huh? Cold feet?"

"Maybe. I've done this before, and it didn't work. Didn't end too well. Hell, didn't start too well either. It wasn't on my terms."

"And this one is?"

"Yeah. Completely. I just..." John shrugged. "I have to do it now...or else she's gone. I mean, I was thinking of doing it already, just not so...so soon."

"And you don't like to be rushed. Understandable. But if it's the only way to keep her..."

"It is." He downed the last of the drink. "Thanks."

* * *

Moira sat in the limo, checked her watch again. The driver had stored the wrapped dress and shoes in the trunk. Now she sat waiting, anxiously watching the rain. Feeling a chill despite the car's heat blanketing her legs. She sighed, shifted. Wondering about John. Anticipating the date he had planned. The inevitable sex afterwards. It had been nearly two months and Moira felt an odd uncertainty. A tension.

She studied her hands. Being back here with the relatives had only reinforced her uneasiness. Her realization that she had let things get way out of control. Had gone way too far with John. Had let herself fall in love and could not seem to stop it. But had to stop it. She had nearly derailed it herself, this passionate relationship, but now knew she had to end it. Before it developed into something serious. Before it evolved into something she couldn't face. Not after the first time. Not after the first engagement. Not after her fiancee's death.

Suddenly the door opened, blasting her with rain and cold. John slid in beside her, closed the door. Rapped his knuckles on the divider. Met her gaze with a dazzling smile. "Relax, Moira. We've got an hour or two ahead of us in here." He frowned. "Are you all right, honey?"

She stared, tongue-tied. Sorrow engulfing her but she shoved it aside. _Not yet, not yet, I can't lose you just yet,_ she thought, but said, "what took you so long?" She sniffed, leaning close. "You've been drinking?"

"Just a Scotch to warm me up. Baby, it's cold outside!" He studied her. "Did you choose a suitable dress, baby?" He tried to keep the anticipation off his face. And the uncertainty.

She nodded. "Yes. But I did check their return policy, sweetie, and it is going back tomorrow. No," she held up a hand before he could protest, "I won't have you wasting your money on a frivolous dress I can only wear once. And only here."

He sighed. Touched her wrist. Fingered the bracelet she wore. The Celtic one he had given her to replace the one he had ruined. "Fine, Moira. If that makes you happy. I wish you would allow me to spoil you," he grumbled.

She kissed him. Snuggled against him. "You do spoil me, John. Just by being with me. Here. Now." She touched his chest. "I'm so tired, John. I haven't been sleeping well." She sighed.

He stroked her back. "Do you want to talk about it, Moira?"

"No. I'm just glad you're here, is all. So glad." She snuggled. "The funeral...well, you've met Aunt Peggy. And her horrible friends. And it...it was bad enough, saying goodbye to grandma after her long illness...her suffering...her...and it brought up all that other...and they have to mention it. They just can't help themselves! Bringing it all up and poor, poor Moira, all pathetic and alone and nothing ever goes right with her and she gets what she deserves after, after..."

He kissed her brow. "My Moira," he soothed.

"Shit. I didn't want to talk about it, John! Stop being so nice!"

He touched her bare knee. Slid his hand up under the coat. "Would you prefer I be a scoundrel, baby? 'Cause I can do that."

She laughed, kissed him. "Yes, sweetie. But no limo sex."

"Darn it," he pouted. "Take a nap, Moira." He slouched down on the seat. She cuddled comfortably on his chest, arm around his waist. Leg nearly over his. "I want you well-rested for this evening."

"Hilarious, John. Just a catnap."

"Okay, Moira. You'll be purring later, I promise."

She smiled, smirked. "Oh John!" she moaned to tease. "It's been nearly two months since we've come."

He sighed. "Don't I know it, baby. Why do you think I booked a secluded, private hotel room with a big, big bed?"

She laughed. "Naughty, naughty, John," she scolded. Relaxing into him. The purr of the car. The warmth of his embrace. Of his solid, firm body. She closed her eyes.

"That's exactly what I'm anticipating, Moira," he rejoined warmly. Relaxing as well as the car lulled him. The feel of her in his arms. Safe. Secure. He watched the passing traffic. The landscape swathed in gray. The endless rainfall.

* * *

Moira stirred, hearing John's voice. Irritated. She opened her eyes, reluctant to move.

"That's what I said," John explained again, voice quiet but annoyed. "There's nothing wrong, is there? Then we are staying until the Daedalus docks at the SGC, unless Moira needs more time and then I am staying with her." He snapped the phone shut.

"John?" Moira sat. "We don't have to stay. We can catch the Daedalus tomorrow. It's all right," she soothed. Curious at his insistence. She moved free to look out the window. "Are we there yet?"

"Yes. We have to stay, and yes, we are here." He got out, but as he moved around the limo Moira stepped out of the car. Stared at the elegant hotel set amidst the conifer trees. Snow lined the hills, but the rain was pouring. Sending an icy chill down her spine. Tendrils of mist crept along the stairway. "Moira."

She looked at him as he touched her back, smiled, guided her up the steps. "John? Our stuff–"

"Driver's got it. Well?"

"Wow. This...this must have cost–"

"Doesn't matter."

"But the SGC–"

"Forget the SGC. Tonight is ours, Moira. All night."

She smiled as they entered. But as she headed for the front desk he steered her towards the elevators. "John?"

"Already have the key card."

"Oh." She shook her head. "So, flyboy...what's on the menu this evening?"

He smiled. "Whatever you desire."

"Oh? Then you'd better be on the menu, sweetie."

He laughed. "Don't you worry, baby. I'm all yours." He unlocked the door. "After you, baby.. Here's what I'm thinking, Moira. We change, well, you change into your sexy, sexy dress and all. Then we dine in the restaurant here. Then come back here and test the bed." He followed her into the room, moved past her to see their bags near the bed. "Or the wall. Or the floor. All three. Whatever."

Moira had stopped in the middle of the room. Her mouth was open but no words were spoken. The sumptuous suite was all cream and gold and violets. A big, satin-covered bed dominated. And the room was filled with roses. Bouquet after bouquet. Red. Pink. Yellow. White. Even a pale lavender shade. The scent was heady on the air.

John grinned, seeing her stunned reaction. He took off his hat. "Too much?" he queried.

She turned, met his gaze. Brown eyes wide with wonder, surprise. Delight. "John? You...oh John! John!" She sprang at him, nearly knocking him over in a tight hug. Kissing him repeatedly until she pulled back from him. "Hey! Since when are you the hearts and flowers guy?" she asked.

"Don't you worry, baby. I'm still the sex guy." He kissed her. Freed her. Swatted her rear. "Now go and get changed."

She smiled. "John..."

He checked his watch. "Hurry up, baby. I'm starving! And then we are having hours of coitus!"

She laughed. "Stop calling it that, sweetie!" She grabbed her packages, entered the bathroom. "John! You should see the size of the bathtub!" she enthused.

He laughed. "Whatever. Hey...is it big enough for–"

"Yes, sweetie!"

"Excellent! Move that pert little ass!" he called, removing his coat. He straightened his tie. Ran a hand through his damp hair. Fingered the two boxes in his pocket. Licked his lips. Nervous. Happy. A host of emotions swarming until he dampened them. He waited. Waited. Eyed the bed with critical assessment. Smirked, thinking of Moira on it. In it. He checked his watch again. "Hey, Moira, there's no headboard. I don't know what you're going to hang onto, and believe me, you'll want to hang onto something."

"Hilarious, John!" she called from the bathroom.

"Maybe the drapes?" he continued. "Moira, it's going to be very, very intense coitus."

"Will you stop calling it that!" she argued, stepping out of the bathroom. Saw him standing by the bed. Hands on hips as he studied it with a serious expression. "John."

He turned. Smiled. Stared. He twirled his finger in the air, indicating that she should turn. "Slowly," he added, gaze wandering. Moira had pinned up most of her hair. A few strands trailed along her bare shoulders. The dress was a vivid green, with sparkling accents. Shading darker as it descended her body. A plunging neckline hugged her breasts. The straps left her shoulders, arms bare, but met at the back of her neck. Crisscrossing, leaving her lower back bare all the way down to her rear. A slit teased up one leg to her thigh. Green high heels peeked under the snug, snug skirt.

"John, is this–"

"Not so fast, baby." He moved to her, eyes glued. Motioned for her to turn again. "Damn..all the way to that pert little ass," he murmured. Fingers sliding down her spine to her rear.

She turned back to him, smiled. "I take it you approve, colonel?"

"Yes." He tilted his head. Frowned. "Something's missing."

"Besides the underwear?" She laughed at his expression. "It was a joke, sweetie!" She took his hand. "Let's go, John. I'm starving too."

"Wait!" He pulled her back. "Something's missing, Moira...something...hmm..." he teased. Ran his hand along her throat. Fingers trailing down her bare skin to between her breasts.

"John? Let's go. Unless you'd rather have dessert first?" she teased.

"Don't tempt me, Moira. Oh! I know! Turn around. Close your eyes."

She frowned. "Is this something kinky, because I'm not doing that before we–"

He laughed. "No. Close your eyes and turn around, sweetheart."

"Fine." She did so. Waited. Waited. "Don't get too kinky, John. This dress does back tomorrow morning." Something hard hit her skin, skittered along her neck. She felt his fingers at the back of her neck. His breath on her skin. Then on her ear.

"I don't think so, Moira. You are too beautiful in it." He kissed her throat. "Open."

She did so. Looked down, knowing it was a necklace by the feel of the chain on her skin. Nevertheless she gasped. Lifted the pendant. A large, brilliant green tsavorite garnet sparkled. Cut into a heart shape the facets caught the light, held it and reflected a deep, rich green shade to her eyes. It was surrounded by paler stones which glittered. Tiny green diamonds and green diopsides sparkled along the chain. A whole shading of green gemstones, interrupted only by clear diamonds. "John!" She whirled.

John smiled at the expression on her face. "I take it you approve?" he echoed.

"John!"she exclaimed again. "You...you...this...too much! You...how...oh John!" she gushed, too overcome to form a complete sentence. She hugged him. Kissed him. Pulled back, tears in her eyes. "John! You can't! I can't accept this! This must have cost a–"

"Don't care, Moira. It's yours. Everything you desire."

"No! No! You can't, you can't!" she repeated, caught between distress and disbelief.

"Already done, sweetheart." He kissed her, pulling her into his arms. Running his hands along her bare back. Down to squeeze her rear. "Ah baby...coitus is assured, isn't it?"

"Not if you keep calling it that! John..." She freed herself. "I can't accept this. I can't. I just can't. Please, you need to take it back, you need–"

"You can and you will. Now..." he offered her his arm. "Let's go eat dinner. Quickly."

She hesitated. Took his arm. "John...oh John...you...you..."

"Enough, Moira. It's yours. Just say thank you and move on," he advised. Voice serious.

"Thank you," she meekly responded.

"Better." He led her down to the dining room.


	3. Chapter 3

Kin Recognition3

Moira had finished eating. Sat watching John as he was still eating. Enjoying every bite of his steak. Every sip of the wine he had insisted on the both of them drinking. But only one glass each. The candlelight glimmered on his medals. The dress blues melting into the surrounding shadows of the mostly deserted room. His handsome face relaxed, full of pleasure. Although an occasional uncertainty flitted across. As if he was trying to decide something. An occasional glance around the room. A quick glance at her. A quick motion of his hand towards his pocket.

Moira smiled. She slipped her foot out of the shoe. Suddenly ran her toes up under his pants leg. She laughed as he dropped his fork, met her smirking stare. Her gaze full of love, of passion. Amusement.

"Hey!" he chastised, gaze sliding to her bare shoulders. The dazzling necklace glinting green in the candlelight. Luring his gaze down to her breasts encased in the slinky green fabric.

"Are you going to eat the plate as well?" she asked, smiled. "I know, I know, it's real food, but John, geez! Maybe I'll have another glass of wine."

"No. One's enough for you, Moira." He moved the bottle out of her reach. "I want you sober. Entirely sober." He licked his lips. Poured himself another glass and drank.

She smiled. Sighed. Moved her foot further up his leg. Tickling. Teasing. "Fine. Take your time, colonel."

"Oh, baby, I intend to take my time. Hours, Moira. Hours of uninterrupted, loud, exuberant coi–"

"Shut up, John,"she fondly scolded. Withdrew her foot. Slipped it back into her shoe. "Hours? If you ever finish eating, that is."

He laughed. "Shut up, Moira."

She smiled. Curled a strand of falling hair around her finger. Tilted her head. Leaned on the table to give him an enticing view as her breasts moved together under the fabric. "John, you don't want dessert, do you?"

"Oh, I do want it, Moira. But here? If that's what you want, baby, I can clear this table in record time."

"Hilarious, John." She sipped some water, eyed the wine bottle across the table. "Can I–"

"No." He drank more. Licked his lips. Glanced round the room again. Eyed her. She was looking round the room as well, admiring the lush decor. The candlelight playing on the marble floor. On the windows which reflected gold Christmas lights back into the room. He smiled. Began to move towards the floor, deciding. Hand on his pocket, knee bending but she turned to him and he fell back into his seat.

"This is lovely, John," she said, not noticing anything amiss. "I mean...you..." She touched his hand on the table. Stilled his fingers with her own. "After these last weeks...months...you have no idea how difficult it was for me. Those people...my own relatives being..."

"I have an inkling, Moira, believe me," he noted. Frowned. He did not want the conversation to go this way. He needed her to look away so he could surprise her. He felt the weight of the little box in his pocket.

"That's what you said before, an inkling." She studied him. "John...those things...those things I don't know about you. The things you don't know about me."

"They're better left unsaid, Moira. At least for now," he countered. "Unless you need to talk about it. About...you know." He scowled as she faltered, eyed her empty glass. Fiddled with her bracelet, turning it round and round. And round.

"No. I don't think I can. At least, at least not yet." She felt her resolve faltering, fading. Licked her lips nervously. "I'm sorry. I don't want to spoil this night. Our night. Our time together. It's the only night we'll have before..."

"We'll have plenty of nights after this one, Moira, trust me," he soothed, wondering what she wasn't saying. "Is it still raining?"

She looked over at the windows. Stared at the wet panes of glass glittering with lights. "Yes." She sighed. "It's been pouring nearly all day. I bet it turns to snow tonight. It's strange, isn't it John? Being here now, I mean. On Earth. At this time. Between the two holidays. Like we're getting a glimpse of another life, another way of living before we go back home."

"Uh huh," he encouraged, waiting. Waiting. She was still staring at the window. John moved again, hand in his pocket. Fingers around the little box. Moving to one knee in front of her, steadying his nerves, trying to find the right words.

"A reminder of ordinary life, of what used to be our ordinary life," she continued, musing as the rain pelted the windows. Sent the lights to shimmer, to shiver. "I don't know about you, but it makes me sad, somehow. But I wouldn't want to stay here. I mean, I'd rather go back to our life in Atlantis. Even lacking this. Wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he agreed. Bending on one knee now. He slid the box from his pocket. Opened it to reveal the sparkling diamond ring. "Moira," he said, voice low.

"Oh shit." She suddenly slid out of the chair, onto her hands and knees as her bracelet fell to the floor. She retrieved it under the table, turned and found herself face to face with John as he swiftly shut the box. "My bracelet...the clasp just came undone and...what are you–"

"Helping. You. With that," he awkwardly stated, stammered. Stared as she fumbled with the bracelet. Moved to her feet. He swiftly moved to his, box shoved unceremoniously into his pocket. "Are you ready to go?"

"Okay." She eyed him a minute, wondering at his sudden discomfort. The frown on his face. "John? Is everything all right?"

"Fine, fine," he grumbled. Hesitated. Hand on the table as she turned away to push in her chair. "Moira...you...that is...I..." His gaze wandered over her, down her bare back to her rear as she began to walk. Hips swaying, swinging in the clingy dress.

"Eyes up, Sheppard," she called over her shoulder. Stopped. Turned. "John?"

He smiled. "Are you kidding me? In that?" Resigning himself he followed after her. Once in the elevator he pulled her into his arms. Kissed her. Opening her lips to his, his tongue thrusting, urgent suddenly. Hands sliding along the dress. Into the slit of the dress to run up her thigh. His fingers encountered her panties and he frowned.

Moira murmured, surrendering. Shifting. Kissing him. Her mouth running across his jaw. Up to circle his ear the way he liked. He moaned softly, but pulled back. "What?"

"I thought you said you weren't wearing undies."

"It was a joke, sweetie."

"Oh. Not a very funny one, baby." He gently pushed her against the wall, kissed her again. "It's just as well, I guess. This way I can secure my trophy. Once they are properly prepped for me. Nice and sodden and so fucking–"

"John!" she scolded, pushing him off her. She elbowed him, exited the elevator. "So much for the hearts and flowers guy!" she complained.

He laughed, following. "Afraid so, baby. It's the sex guy now." He unlocked the door, ushered her into their hotel room. He closed the door, locked it. Caught her and pushed her gently against it. Pinned her wrists. "I've been wanting to do this ever since you put this thing on," he said hotly into her ear. Kissed down the back of her neck. His hands slid down her arms as his kisses wandered along her shoulder. Then down, down her bare back. Down to her rear.

Moira gasped as her body reacted vividly to his seductions. She moved against the door. "John, oh John!"

He straightened, slid his hand into the slit of the dress. Over to her crotch. Caressed, plied the skimpy panties as his other hand slid up, up, around to slide into the plunging neckline. To grasp a bare breast. "Ah, baby...two months...two long, lonely, fucking months," he complained.

"John," she whispered, trying to move as erotic sensations flooded all over her. All at once but he kept her pinned there. Pressed to the wall. He shoved up against her rear.

"Moira. I want all of your exuberance, baby. We can be as exuberant, as loud as we want to be. Here. I want you loud, Moira. I want this whole fucking hotel to hear you come."

"John, John!" She finally scrambled, turning to him as his hands moved off, out, away. She kissed him. Flung her body against his. Colliding with his arousal as she squirmed. Pressed.

His hands slid up to unpin her hair. To set it loose and wild about her. He drew back but she caught his hands, led him to the bed. Almost tripping in her haste. Making him smile.

"John...oh, wait!"

"Wait?" He was moving her onto the bed, over her but she pushed him. He rolled onto his back. Moaned. "Ah God...this bed! Moira...this bed!" he enthused as the mattress supported, enfolded him in blissful comfort.

She smiled. "I know...damn..." she agreed. "But what I meant was you need to get out of your dress blues. And we can't, um, get anything on this dress since I'm going to return it."

He moved over her. Kissed her. "You mean you won't be able to return it if we come all over it?" he teased.

"John! Yes," she answered.

He laughed. Ran his mouth down her throat, down the plunging neckline. Moved the necklace aside to taste her skin. Her scent. He shoved the material aside to expose a bare breast. To kiss and nibble the nipple until she arched. Hands on him. She pulled his tie, pulled his mouth up to hers again. But pushed him. Sat. "John, oh John..."she gasped, breathless. Aroused.

He smiled. "Bet they're sodden now, huh, baby?"

"Shut up, John!" she flared, but he laughed merrily. She kicked off her shoes. He sat, removed his. Stood and took off his jacket, hung it carefully over a chair. He removed his belt. Turned as Moira was suddenly behind him, running her hands up his back. "Please, oh please allow me, colonel," she purred. Fingers itching to feel his naked skin, his muscles, his lean, hard surfaces.

He turned, smiling. She kissed him, unbuttoning his crisp white shirt slowly. Slowly. Tugged it up out of his pants. Opened it and ran her hands along his chest, fingers tangling in the coarse hairs. Her mouth wandered across his jaw, to circle, circle his ear and then down his throat. He moaned happily. His hands running along her sides, tugging at the dress. Wanting if off her, out of the way. "Ah, baby, that makes me so hard," he wooed as she circled his ear again. Nibbled.

"I know, sweetie," she said with a smirk. Slid down to her knees, kissing along his chest, waist. Hands running over his crotch, thighs, the all too evident bulge. John groaned, shifting.

"Moira," he said, as she unbuttoned, unzipped. Yanked down the material. Smiled at his checkered boxers.

"Cute."

"Cute?" He grabbed her, pulled her to her feet, into his arms. "Cute is not the word I want to hear down there!" he scolded.

She laughed. Kissed him. "Sorry, John."

He shook his head, stepping out of his pants, carefully folding them over the chair. He paused, feeling the little box still hidden there. Still waiting. The unasked question halting him.

Moira ran her hands under his shirt. Up his bare back, gently raking her nails along his skin. Then playfully ran her nails down, down. Smacked his rear. "That is a fine, fine ass ,colonel."

"Hilarious, Moira." He smirked. Deliberately leaned over to remove one sock. Then the other. "Well? Turn about's fair play, baby."

She laughed. "That it is, sweetie. Damn...finest, finest ass in both galaxies!"

He laughed, removed his shirt, laid it carefully over the chair. Turned to see her amused, passionate gaze traveling all over him. "Your turn, baby. At least it will be quick." He touched her bare shoulders. Kissed her.

"Hmm..not too quick, I trust," she teased.

He brushed back her hair. Fingers sliding to her neck, behind to unfasten the straps. He freed the green material, slipped it off her. He pulled it slowly along her body, off her body. Gazed hungrily at her bare breasts, the scar on her side. The skimpy lace panties.

"John," she breathed, shifted. Stepping out of the dress pooling at her feet. "Stop that. You know that makes me un–"

"Comfortable," he finished for her. Slowly, slowly met her gaze. "I know." He slyly smiled.

She frowned. Hit his chest. "Hilarious, John!"

He pulled her into an embrace, kissing her. Then shoved her backwards onto the bed. She laughed as she fell, hitting the satin comforter, bouncing on the soft mattress. She scrambled up to the pillows until he grabbed her ankle, halting her. Pausing a moment to examine her scarred foot. The surgery cuts glaringly new over the older scars.

"John," she said, embarrassed. Pulling her foot from him but unable to get free.

He met her gaze. A tenderness, a protective passion in his serious gaze that made her stare. Then he smiled, climbing onto the bed. Over her. Kissing her as he eased himself on top of her. But he rolled onto his side. "Ah, baby...this bed is fucking amazing!"

She laughed. "Sweetie, would you rather be alone with the bed? My bed will be awfully jealous, you know."

"Yeah...I may have to requisition this one, baby." He rolled to her. Kissed her. Slowly, so slowly, savoring her lips, the feel of her tongue as his hands slid along her throat, her shoulders. Her side. Suddenly cupping her breasts as his kisses deepened. Deepened. Tongue thrusting into her mouth, possessing. She murmured, shifting. Hands running up his bare arms, shoulders. He nibbled her earlobe, licked behind it to make her whimper, squirm. Then gently, very gently bit the sensitive flesh.

She jerked in response, gasped. "John," she rasped, breathless. His fingers rubbing, caressing her breasts, calloused fingers on her nipples kneading, kneading.

He chuckled against her skin, kissing down her throat. "I want to devour you, baby, like a chocolate bar. It's been too long since we've had this." His kisses wandered down, down to tease her breasts as he finally freed them. Fingers sliding down to her hips. To her panties.

Moira squirmed. Legs opening as his fingers played, prodded, pushed against the wet material. She caressed his shoulders, then his hair as he moved lower, lower. "John, John...oh God..." she said in a stuttering gasp, a soft whimper escaping her lips as he moved lower. He kissed up her inner thigh while he stroked, stroked. "Oh John! John, no, no, you're not–"

"I am, baby," he assured gruffly. Looked up to gaze along her body as it squirmed, arched. He smiled, yanked down her panties, removing them swiftly. He shoved her legs wide and kissing along the scar on her side. "If I can keep from coming, that is," he wryly remarked.

"John, oh John, oh John, John," she repeated in an elongated staccato of desire, of need. Her fingers clutched, pulling his hair but he ignored her. Going down with a deliberate slowness. Teasing around, so close, so close to his target as he circled, circled. He caught her thighs to keep her writhing, flooding body in place.

Moira whimpered helplessly, moaning and moving as he suddenly delved. Searching, searching while his fingers slid under her to more sensitive areas. To lift her as if she was a platter he was intent on devouring. Moira arched, nearly sat. Fell back, whimpers loud, gasping moans that became caught in her throat as the pleasure built, built. Flooded abruptly as he found his targets and proceeded to capture them. Over and over. "John! Oh John, John!" she cried loudly, shouting, whimpering as he didn't relent, didn't stop. Bringing her with ruthless precision. Motions faster, faster.

Moira lost herself in the sexual sensations, the throbbing, pulsing rhythm of climax after climax. Writhing wildly. Shoving, shoving him into her, wanting more, more. Harder. Inarticulate cries strangling in her voice. Breathless, sobbing. "John! John, John!" she cried. Realizing what she was doing she shoved him back, eyes wide, flustered as the orgasm slowed. Brimmed. "Shit! John, John, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

He slid up, breathing heavily. Rested on her waist as his erection was painful, throbbing in time to her. Demanding her. "Fuck! I'm about to come all over the bed...ah baby...consider that a freebie...so fucking sweet!"

"Oh John...you... I didn't mean to–"

"Drown me?" He met her shocked gaze, rosy face. Smiled. "My pleasure, baby...that's the deepest kiss I 've got...oh shit...I've got to fuck you now. Hard and fast. Hold on, Moira. Hold on real, real tight." He slid up, tense, already jerking with anticipation. Need.

"John, you, you shouldn't have oh John, oh John!" she babbled, as he thrust inside her. Groaned loudly, breathing deeply as she enfolded him, welcomed him. She ran her hands up his back as he thrust, thrust. Slow. Deep. Relief spiraling wildly with each motion.

"Fuck! Oh fuck that is good! Moira, oh fuck that is so fucking good! So sweet and tight! Tighter! Tighter, baby, oh fuck!" he enthused, growling as she clenched on him, as if to make him fight his way with every thrust. He grabbed her wrists, shoved them back onto the bed and thrust faster, harder. Taking her with dominant male assertion. Reveling in the sexual relief, the sexual conquest. The pleasure inundating them both now.

Moira rocked with him. The bed bouncing under his wild exertions. Her legs wide open, knees bent as he groaned, groaned. "John! Oh John! John, John, John!" she cried loudly, the litany breaking from her lips as another flood of pleasure, of possession engulfed her. Her nails dug into his back, his arms.

"Moira! My Moira, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he yelled, coming hard and fast. His body jerking, shuddering as she squirmed, squeezed, released. Her wet, hot embrace arousing him so much he could barely stop the escalating momentum. He moaned profusely as he shook. The spasms almost violent. Spurting he strained, strained, only to thrust again. A quick, short momentum until he finally collapsed upon her.

Moira relaxed, catching her breath. Closing her legs but he pausing as he was still inside her. "John..."she gasped, marveling. Stroking his shoulders, his back. She kissed his brow.

He smiled, catching his breath. "Moira...give me...damn...give me..." His voice was raw, sated. Husky. Pleasure thrummed along him.

"Forget it, John. There's no way you'll be able to get it up again. Damn, John!"

"Two months, baby. Two months and I've been a very lonely boy." He slid up her body, kissed her lips. But she pushed, scrambled out from under him. "Hey!"

"Under." She scooted under the blankets.

He joined her. But flung them off their bodies. "Hot. Sweaty. Sticky."

"Shut up, John," she said mildly, hearing the satisfaction, the enjoyment in his voice. She moved on top of him. Kissed him. Gentle, slow kisses savoring his full lips. She stroked his hair. His cheek. His jaw. "John..." she said lovingly. "Oh John..." She shifted on top of him. Suddenly settled on him as a sadness filled her.

He smiled, unaware of her sudden mood. His arm slid over her. "Moira. Was I too loud?"

"Yes. But so was I. Damn, John..."

"Is that a compliment or a complaint?" he teased. Hearing the pleasure in her tone. Seeing the passion in her eyes before she had settled. Her love flowing over him. "With you I can never tell."

She kissed him. Sat. "You're right."

"About?" he lazily asked. Watching the fall of her hair against her bare skin.

"Hot. Sweaty. Sticky."

He laughed. "Oh."

She considered, met his gaze. "John, did you see the bathtub? It's huge! Big enough for two."

He smiled. "Really? Hmm. Naughty Moira wants kinky now? Sweet!"

"No, just a bath. A bubble bath, John." She leaned to kiss him. "Wait here."

"Whatever you desire, baby."

"Good. Besides," she smirked, "it will take you that long to re-arm your ordnance."

"True," he agreed happily. He stretched out comfortably, arms folded under his head. He watched her slip out of the sheets. Walk to the bathroom. "Damn, that pert little ass will make me hard if nothing else will."

"Hilarious, John! Stay here and stand down." She entered the bathroom. Peeked around the corner at him. "And sweetie, don't fall asleep!"

He laughed. "I can't promise that, baby, so move that pert little ass."

"As ordered, colonel," she laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

Kin Recognition4

John relaxed. Stretched languidly in the big bed. Enjoying the sheer comfort of the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets. His body replete at the moment. Satisfied after nearly two months of abstinence. The absence of Moira no longer an issue. The sex exuberant, fulfilling. He loved pushing her, pushing her, shocking her and bringing her so intensely. Smug that he was the first to be with her in so many ways. Methods.

He closed his eyes, dozing lightly. Enjoying her company, her teasing. Her love. He frowned. Considering that little box in his pants. Knew he had to secure her before the IOA took her from him. Pondered when to do it. How. His thoughts flitted to the dead fiancee. Her relatives and their coldness, their blame. He found himself wondering about that. It angered him, their callous disregard. He was ready to defend her, protect her. If he only knew from what.

He heard her softly humming a melody, out of tune but it only charmed him. Sexual anticipation made him stir. He listened to the pouring water as it filled the tub. He imagined her moving around the room. Naked. So soon to be wet. Drenched head to toes. All his. His for the taking.

He considered that little box again. His decision. The necessity for swift action. He found himself recalling his first wife. Comparing her to Moira. Preferring Moira despite her mercurial mood swings and scientific rambling. He felt a weird sense of kinship with her. As if whatever lurked in their respective pasts somehow linked them. Joined them, however dark. However blameworthy.

He rolled onto his side, settling. He wasn't ready to tell her. Just as she wasn't ready to tell him. But the very fact that he was even considering telling her was far more than he had ever felt for anyone in a long time. Realized it was probably the same for her.

* * *

"John?" Moira stepped out of the warm bathroom. She had wrapped a towel around her naked body. She smirked. Saw him dozing. She neared quietly. Stared at him. Caught by emotion. Caught by love. That he had traveled so far to be with her. No doubt incurring the wrath of his superior officers. Maybe even Doctor Weir. Marveling over his concern. His determination. His love.

She bit her lower lip, feeling a surge of emotion. Fought it. Did not want to ruin their perfect night together. She recalled the sex. His skills even more remarkable than she had remembered. His boldness astonishing. His expertise amazing. He made her feel things, want things, do things that no other man had ever done before. Not even her fiancee. She felt a stab of guilt. Guilt at comparing them. Guilt at even preferring John. Preferring John's surer, stronger love.

But she knew. Knew she had to let him go. That their relationship was too intense. Was progressing too swiftly. Possibly towards an undeniable conclusion that she wasn't ready to face. Would probably never be able to face. Not even with John. As much as loved him. Needed him. Wanted him. And as much as he seemed to love her. Moira still could not quite believe the depth of his feelings. As if they were still ephemeral, would pass and he would move on to the next woman. As if he would see who she really was and turn away. She couldn't bear that. Would rather end it now than go through that.

She slipped onto the bed. Pushing it all aside. Showered soft kisses on him. Light, teasing motions of her soft lips along his. Along his face, his throat. Savoring the pure masculine taste of him, the scent. The roughness of his emerging stubble. The fullness of his perfect lips. The long neck. She circled his ear until he softly, softly moaned. She sat. Roughly shoved him. "John! John Sheppard!"

His eyes flew open at her tone. "Huh? Oh, sorry, baby! How long–"

"Ten minutes, John." She sighed, pouted as he eyed the towel. "Oh well...if you are too tired I'll just bathe alone. And I don't even have a loofah with me. I don't know what I can use to scrub my body. All over. Every inch." She licked her lips.

He smiled, sat. "Lead on, baby. My ordnance is ready for deployment after that."

"Right," she scoffed, standing. "You'll be lucky to deploy at all, sweetie."

He followed her into the bathroom. Paused to see candles glimmering in the darkened, warm room. Bubbles sparkled in the large bathtub. Rose petals floating on the iridescent waters. "Wow...you've been busy, sweetheart."

"I had to do something while you dozed off like that," she complained. "Oh! I hope this isn't too romantic for you, John." She dropped the towel to the floor. Stepped into the tub. Settled. Smiled. "Oh God...this feels so good, so fucking good!" she teased.

He smirked. "Hilarious, Moira! What exactly do you have in there?" He splashed in opposite her. Settled. "Ah...fuck! You're right. Damn that is good!" He took the glass she offered, eyed the fizzy contents. "Champagne?" For a wild moment he wondered if she had guessed his intentions, had discovered the little box in his pants.

She shrugged, momentarily dislodging bubbles from her breasts. "Yes. Why not? I love you, John." She glanced at the candles flickering, suddenly somber. "I love you."

He smiled. "I love you, Moira. Although this excessive romance stuff is not exactly my kind of thing, but I'll go with it." He clinked his glass against hers, startling her as she eyed him. They drank the champagne. John licked his lips. "Not bad."

She smiled. "I know, you'd prefer a beer, flyboy." She stretched her legs, nudging his. "This is so perfect, John. Like some romantic fantasy."

"I was thinking sexual, but yeah, that too," he coyly agreed.

She nudged his leg in reprimand. "I'm serious, John! You. Me. Here. Now. The perfect night. Our perfect night," she mused softly, eyes on the golden liquid in the glass. She set it aside.

"One of many," he agreed, "although most will not be like this, I'm afraid." He glanced to the open doorway. Chided himself for not bringing the little box with him. Realizing he could have done it here, placed the ring in the champagne glass. He sighed inwardly. But suddenly Moira was sliding onto him, over him. Her wet skin warm on his. "Moira?"

She smiled. Caressed his chest. "John, oh John...let's make this night last forever," she sighed happily. "Just you. Me. Here. Now."

"Fine by me, baby," he agreed, kissing her. Hands sliding along her sides after he set the glass aside. "Ah, yes."

She laughed, sliding along him. "Oh colonel! Not bad at all..."

He grinned. "Baby, when you stand up I'll be at full salute." He cupped her breasts, kneading the nipples into hardness as she squirmed on his lap. He kissed her.

"John," she cooed, "oh John!" She kissed him repeatedly. Then scooted, slid back across the tub out of his reach. "You are nearly at–"

"Oh yeah," he agreed. Licked his lips. "Stand."

She blushed. Glanced round the room but the candles were the only witnesses. She stood. Soap and bubbles sparkled as water sluiced down her naked skin.

"Oh fuck," John muttered, staring. The sight arousing. "You are so beautiful, Moira. So ready to be plucked. By me. Repeatedly."

"You'll say anything to get laid, John," she refuted.

He stood. Pulled her against him. Kissing her roughly. Mouth demanding. He grabbed her rear. Squeezed as he shoved her into his erection. Wet bodies sliding together. "Sorry, baby, I need to fuck that sweet, sweet–"

"John! Don't spoil the romance!" she complained. "You are spoiling it by your–"

"Coarseness? Sorry, sweetheart," he muttered, stepping out of the tub. Guiding her.

"No, we need to dry off and then–"

"Can't wait," he rejoined. Swiftly backing her into a wall. He was rock hard. Tension unbearable. "Moira, I want you. I want you all wet and hot and ripe. Mine. Mine for the taking." He kissed her. Spun her round to face the wall. "I want that pert little ass now."

"John? John, you oh John!" She gasped as he squeezed her rear, pulled her out a bit. Entered her with a quick but careful thrust. She moaned, tensing. Wet hands sliding on the tiles. Body hot, wet, gushing as he thrust, thrust. Groaning loudly with each intimate motion.

His hands slid down to grab her breasts. To ply. To tease. His mouth running along her back, her shoulders. Gentle bites to make her squirm, gasp in surprise. But he held her in place. Hands on her hips now, guiding her onto him, wider. Leaning her more and more. Angling for the best position. Angling for the best way her slick folds could encompass all of him. "Fuck! Fuck that is so fucking tight! Moira...Moira...full throttle, baby," he growled. Moving harder, faster now as his body took over to sate its demands.

Moira moaned, whimpered as the pleasure grew, grew. As he went deeper, faster, harder. As his wet hands slid down to her cleft. To ply, to play at the crest of her opening. All the while thrusting into her with a delicious, lustful possession. His grunts punctuating each movement. She tensed, realizing he was going to give her a double. She was breathless. Speechless as her words fell to moans, to whimpers. She cried out softly as she was rocked, rocked wildly. Orgasms nearing, nearing.

John grunted, losing himself in sexual pleasure. Seemingly unable to get enough of her. To ease his throbbing erection, his balls caught in tense demand, strain. Her animalistic sounds only making him more aroused, as they matched his own. The welcome release began. A series of spasms and shudders that rocked him. He thrust quicker, quicker. "Fuck! Fuck, oh fuck! Moira, my own fucking Moira!" he rasped.

"John! Oh John, please, please, oh John oh John!" she cried as she came. One orgasm rushing after the other. Her knees nearly buckled as the tidal wave of shattering climax melted her.

"Moira, Moira, my Moira!" he enthused, groaning in sheer relief, pleasure as he came. The rush of orgasm. The pleasure of their joining. The sexual exuberance riding them both.

Moira felt tears. A strangled sob as the climax was so intense, so vibrant. If not for the wall she was being continually thrust against she would have collapsed. Her hands grabbed uselessly at the tiles. Wet fingers sliding, sliding. "John! Oh John, please, please...John!" she stammered.

John finally slowed. Expending the last of his energy, as if reluctant to let her go. His breathing ragged. He slid out of her, leaned against her. Kissed her shoulder. "Moira. Moira, Moira, fuck, oh fuck...my Moira...I never want to leave that sweet, sweet center. I just want to crawl up inside here so fucking tight and snug and so–"

"You nearly did, damn you," she agreed tiredly, straightening as he moved off her at last. "John! John, I...you... I can't...I can't..."

"Make it to the bed?" he guessed. "Nor can I, baby. Wait a sec. Just..." He turned her to face him. He kissed her. Kept kissing her as he led her to the bed. He fell back against it, pulling her with him to land on top of him. She slid free, under the sheets. He followed. She drew away, but then snuggled close to him. Kissed him. His arm encircled her.

"John...John..you...you...how the hell do you keep it up so long?"

He smiled. "Practice, baby. Lots. And you. Moira. You make me so hard."

"Ssh." She closed her eyes, settling into him. "I'm so tired, sweetie. If you want more you'll have to wait."

He laughed weakly. "I'll wait. Shit...you drain me dry, baby. But I love it. We probably woke the whole hotel with that exuberance. At least you did...God I love you loud! Like that. It turns me on, baby. Hearing how I pleasure you."

"John...remember the rule. No post-coital talking."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. Guess you'll have to punish me later."

"You wish."

He kissed her. "Tie me up, baby. Will you? Tie me up and go down on me."

"There's no headboard, sweetie."

"Oh. Right. Crap."

She softly laughed. "Sorry, honey."

He sighed. "I'll think of something. Sleep."

"John...this evening...this evening has been perfect...I...I just want you to know that."

"Okay...it has been." He frowned. "Why? Why do I need to know that? Moira?"

"Sleep, sweetie. Talk later," she whispered. Falling into a blissful sleep. Falling into the warmth of his body, his love. The intimacy.

John stroked her back, closed his eyes. Succumbing to exhaustion, happiness. The feel of her in his arms. Safe. Secure. His.

* * *

John woke hours later. He was sprawled comfortably in the bed. Could feel Moira's leg but the rest of her was sprawled near him across the expanse of satin sheets. He smiled. Yawned. The room was dark. He sat, stretched. Lazily checked the clock. Looked at his clothes. Draped neatly over the chair. Saw her dress spilled on the floor.

He looked at Moira. She was asleep. Hair a wild mess around her face, on the pillow. He saw the extravagant necklace still on her. It twinkled in the dim light. He looked back at the chair. At his pants where the little box resided. He sighed. Trying to assess her response to his yet unasked question. To assess the fallout from all angles.

He laid back down. Turned to her and closed his eyes. Falling back into oblivion.

* * *

Moira rolled. Rolled. Scooted until she found John. Although she liked the expansive bed she missed the intimate contact with John's body. His warmth. His solid security. She snuggled against him. Slid onto him and nudged him. "John?"

He was fast asleep. But his arm slid lazily over her, welcoming her. As he always did. She smiled. Rested her hand on his shoulder. Happy. Content. Wondering if she could delay the inevitable. Delay the break-up for a little while longer. Loath to give this up. To lose this. She fell into a light sleep, debating what to do.

The thought struck her. Woke her abruptly. Moira scooted, seeing the sunlight streaming into the room. She eyed the clock. "John! John, John!" She shook him.

He woke, blinked. "Moira," he smiled. "As always. I like waking up with you on top of me. Naked. Sated."

"John! Don't we have to get back to the SGC today?"

"Yes. This afternoon," he answered, wondering at her sudden distress. He smiled. "I made certain we had the morning to ourselves, Moira. If we...you know..." His suggestive smile, glint made her frown.

"No...you made certain...you oh no!" She sat, scrambling off him.

"What?"

She sighed. Ran a hand through her hair. "We...we can't do this, John!"

"Do what? We already did it, baby. Several–"

"Not that! This! If you made certain...the SGC, Atlantis...knows you're here? With me? I was wondering about this room, the hotel, the...that they would just let you go like that. Come here, I mean, with me...but they would have to know you were..."

"Yes. Just in case. And of course they know you are with me. Why? Oh..." he realized, "they'll know we are in a hotel together, having lots and lots of sex? Who doesn't know that?"

"Don't you see?" she complained to his teasing tone, "this won't work! This won't! Don't you see?" she flared, staring round the room. "All of the, the bother, the melodrama over wanting a closer room, and my, my dead...anyway, they'll jump to wild conclusions! However unlikely and inappropriate! Damn it, John, we have to break up!"

"What?" He was wide awake now. Staring. "Moira?"

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't want to do it like this. Now, I mean. I...this was wonderful! This was so wonderful and loving and romantic and orgasmic, my God it was orgasmic!" she declared, distracted for a moment. "But we, look, I'm sorry! It's my fault. I never should have let things go this far, I shouldn't have allowed myself the luxury of, of loving you so much, of wanting..."

"What? What are you saying, Moira?" he asked, bewildered. He sat. Touched her arm. Fingers caressing. "You love me so you have to break up with me?"

"Yes." She sighed. Met his gaze. "John...we can't...I can't...look, it's out of control now...it's...look, we have to at least appear to have broken up or they will jump to wild conclusions about our romantic getaway and how a closer room escalated into the M word and they'll assume you did but you don't and I won't so when they assume you asked because of this they'll know I won't and I can't because of him and this love, John, this love is just more than I ever thought I'd have or own and I can't because you won't want me after you know me."

John's brow furrowed, trying to follow her anxious, convoluted words. "Wait. Slow down. You...they'll think this romantic getaway was so I could propose to you?" he deciphered.

"Yes. I..." She gestured at the room. "We have to be careful, John. We can't. I mean...we...look, it's just too..."

"Will you?" he asked suddenly. Throwing caution to the wind, his own hesitation aside. Curbing her worry, her panic.

"What? Be careful? Yes, of course, we'll downplay this whole wonderful time and then, then John I think we truly need to, to break–"

"No. Not that. Will you?" he repeated. Serious. Gaze locked with hers. Fingers slipping down her arm to clasp her hand in his. He waited. But she was silent. Staring. Startled. He closed his fingers over hers. His own expression solemn. Sincere. "Moira? Moira O'Meara...will you marry me?"


	5. Chapter 5

Kin Recognition5

Moira's heart skipped a beat. Skipped several beats as her breath caught in her chest. As her voice caught in her throat. She freed her hand. Suddenly covered herself with the satin sheets. Blushed. Wondered if this was some jest, some teasing cruelty but John appeared sincere. Utterly serious. Waiting. "You...you...no. You're not. You...John? You are not, are you? You are not asking me to marry you when we're both naked in a hotel bed?" she exclaimed.

He shrugged. Smiled. "Yeah. I am. I was going to last night, but you kept talking. And talking. And I couldn't find the right time, the right words, so..."

"And this is the right time?" she asked, shaking her head.

"And I really, really wanted sex," he continued, ignoring her annoyance. "Lots of exuberant sex. So I waited. And waited. But yeah. Since you brought it up...look, Moira, I could go get the rings but they're all the way over there in my pants so...will you?"

"I..." She stared, unable to speak again. So many emotions flooding her she froze. "Okay," she whispered in a small voice.

He stared. Tightness in his chest, butterflies in his stomach easing at last. He smirked. "Okay? Okay? Geez, you know how to make a guy feel special," he quipped.

She smiled. Able to breath again. "What do you expect, flyboy! Look at us! You...oh John! John, yes, yes!" she enthused. Hugged him. Kissed him lavishly, knocking him backwards onto the bed.

He laughed, arms encircling her. "That's better, Moira. More tongue," he advised, returning her enthusiastic kisses. Rolling so she was beneath him but he paused. Met her gaze. "Moira...you do know what you just agreed to do, right?"

She touched his face. "Yes...I think..." she hesitated. "Didn't you just, just ask me to, to, to marry you?" she whispered.

"Yes," he confirmed, making her relax, move to kiss him when he stopped her. "Today."

"What? Today? You mean...today today?" She shoved him off her, sat. Covered herself again. "John? You cannot possibly–"

"Look, Moira, I don't see the point of wasting time," he explained. Talking round the real reason for his haste. The necessity. "We're doing it backwards, I know. We just had the fantastic honeymoon, now we're having the engagement. So why not just have the marriage and get it over with all in one go? I mean, I mean," he continued hastily as she met his gaze, scowling, "do you really want to wait for weeks? Have a huge foo foo affair in Atlantis? I don't want that. I just want you. Look, if you really want all that fanfare white gown huge cake flowers aisle people crap we can do it later. But right now, right now we're here. You. Me. Here. Now. And that's all I need. Just you, Moira. You. With me. By my side. Exchanging vows. Rings. Hearts."

She stared, absorbing his words, his sentiments. "Okay, John."

"Okay?" He smirked again. Kissed her. Touched her rosy cheek. Ran his fingers through her hair. "Are you sure, Moira? Again your enthusiasm is overwhelming," he caustically noted.

She frowned. "What do you expect, John? You just spring all of this on me without any warning, any clue, any hints? I thought all you wanted was just incredible sex with a little romance thrown in, not a rush into honeymoon, engagement, and matrimony! All in one day!"

"I didn't expect you to panic and try to break up with me, baby, but that ain't happening either! I don't like wasting time, Moira. And yes, this is lousy timing, wildly inappropriate in light of why you are here in the first place. And we've both been through all that brouhaha before. Well, me more than you but I figured you wouldn't want to go through all that shit again, would you?"

Moira lowered her eyes. Uncomfortable. "No. Not really," she admitted.

He lifted her face to his. Gently kissed her. "Sweetheart, nor do I. It's better this way, I think. Just you. Just me. And the justice of the peace. Simple. Elegant. Honest. Hmm? The way our lives are back in Atlantis we could be waiting for months, couldn't we? And yes, I know we'd still be together and still having amazing sex...hey, our amazing sex isn't going to change just because I put a ring on your finger, is it?" he asked, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

She smiled. Sighed fondly. "No, John."

"Good. That's a relief. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. I'd rather do it here. Now. Have it be a done deal when we return to Atlantis. That way there's no fuss, no bother, no problems."

"Geez, John, when you make it sound like a business deal instead of a romantic venture how can I possibly resist?" she sarcastically noted. "Hey, what kind of problems? Will there be problems? Because you're the military commander?"

"No, nothing like that," he smoothly evaded. "You're a civvie, so there's nothing to stop us there."

"So where, then? John?"

He shrugged. Glanced at the clock. "We need to get moving if we want to do this thing."

"John? What problems?" she persisted.

He met her suspicious, worried gaze. "Moira, if we're going to do this we need to do it now. We have only three hours before we catch the limo back to the SGC. So are you on board with this or not?" he asked.

She stubbornly folded her arms under her breasts, causing them to peek out of the violet satin sheets wrapped around her. "What problems? John?"

He sighed. Gaze roving, unable to help himself. He smiled. "We have just enough time for a short, sweet, intense quickie, then breakfast. Then a dash to the registrar's office."

"John! What problems?"

He kissed her. "So? Quickie?"

"Damn it, John! What fucking prob–"

He kissed her again, yanked the sheets from her. He shoved her onto her back. "Just a quickie, my Moira, just a sweet little fucking orgasm and then we'll get hitched and go home."

Moira was going to protest, angry, annoyed. But found herself persuaded as John proceeded to guide her, seduce her into a pleasurable, wild coupling that alleviated all anxiety, all stress.

* * *

Moira felt she was caught in a whirlwind. She stood anxiously in front of the closed doors, waiting. Her hair was pinned up but strands were slipping loose. She wore a white dress dotted with tiny red roses and green leaves. She held a single rose procured by John on their way to the court. She still wore the extravagant necklace he had given her. It was mostly hidden by the dress's collar. A solid, comforting weight around her throat. She turned as John hastened to her. Clad in his dress blues again. Dashing. Handsome. "Well?"

He shrugged. "I can't find them! Only this." He caught her hand. S lipped on an engagement ring with a large round diamond surrounded by smaller ones. "I swear I had the bands in my pocket but they're not there now. Moira?"

She had gasped. Was staring at the ring, impressed. Stunned by the sheer brilliance of the diamond as its facets caught the light, reflected tiny rainbows on her fingers. By the sheer size of the gemstone. "Good God! John, John...it's beautiful! It's...it's...wow."

He smiled. "Now what? 'Cause we are not leaving until your last name becomes mine, baby."

"Oh! I've got rings!" She grabbed her purse, pulled out a pair of gold bands. "These were my grandmother's. She left them to me. Not that I'd ever think I would need them, I mean, I mean..." she stammered.

John took one of the rings. Squinted. "What's this say?" He could make out words inscribed on the inside of the band. Tiny letters. "This isn't English."

She smiled. "No. It's Gaelic. _Gra anois agus go deo."_

"Huh?" he inquired, meeting her warm gaze.

She colored, suddenly uncertain. "Um, um, it means love now and forever. Look, John, I know it's hokey, and sloppy and sentimental but they are wedding bands. Look, we can use them now and replace them later, okay? Look, we don't have to go through with any of this if you–"

"It's perfect," he soothed, seeing her anxiety about to dissolve into tears. "Perfect, sweetheart. Like you. For me." He offered his arm. A gallant gesture. "Shall we?"

She hesitated. Smiled. Took his arm. "Okay, John. Do we–"

"Okay again? We have less than an hour. Move that pert little ass, would you?" he commented. "Don't you worry, baby, everything is in order." He led her to the waiting clerk. "Okay, we're ready now. Sorry." He glanced at her. "It's all right, Moira. They're used to these kind of things. Swift military weddings. Since we only have hours."

"Okay, John."

"Okay." He looked round, suddenly as nervous as she was. "Okay."

"Are you getting cold feet, John?"

"No. Are you?"

"No."

"Okay, then. Okay, then. Let's deploy and make our egress ASAP." He checked his watch. "We've got a ship to catch, buddy, so can you hurry it up?" he gestured, impatient.

"John! Wait!" She drew him away from the clerk. "John..." she lowered her voice. "Are you sure? I mean, are you really sure you, you want to do this? With me? Here? Now?"

"Yes."

"I mean, look, John, we, we have things...I have things in my past...terrible things that I can't...I'm not who you think I am," she softly confessed, eyes on his chest now. Unable to meet his gaze. "I'm not what you see...not at all...there are terrible things, John. Terrible...things in the dark that I've done, or, or failed to do. I can't let you marry that, that–"

"I'm the same, Moira." He lifted her face to hers. Gaze serious. Solemn. "So if you need to say no, if you need to stop this now I'll understand. You have no idea who I am, Moira. The things I've done, and haven't done. The things in the dark buried so deeply that no one can see. Except maybe for you, Moira. You're the first who's ever looked there. So...I should by all that's right let you go. But I can't. I won't. I want you, Moira. I love you."

She blinked back tears. "Oh John...I love you! I love you, no matter what you think you've done or haven't done! I...you...here...now..."

He kissed her. "Then let's get married, baby. You. Me. Here. Now. The hell with the rest of it."

"Okay, John."

He smiled. "Okay, Moira."

* * *

Moira was still caught in the whirlwind. The quick ceremony. The simple yet heartfelt vows. The solemn I dos spoken by both. The exchange of the gold rings. The lingering kiss. Before the congratulations were out of the justice's mouth she was pulled to sign the documents. Then out of the building into the limo. Rushed to the hotel to quickly change into their normal clothes. The normal Atlantis BDUs. Nondescript. Bags packed in the trunk she barely had time to stash some of the many roses from the room into them. Along with the green dress John refused to allow her to return.

She would have believed it to be an elaborate dream. Except she was sitting next to John in the car. She still had on the extravagant necklace but the green t-shirt concealed it along with her jacket. Khaki pants and flat shoes making her almost forget the high heels. Except for the two rings on her left hand, fourth finger. The large diamond sparkling vivaciously in the sunlight as the rain had finally, finally ended. The gold band.

She glanced at John. He was on the phone, waiting. Impatience on his handsome face. Back to his black t-shirt, blue jacket and pants. Boots. Nothing to indicate there was anything different about him. Except the gold band encircling his fourth finger on his left hand.

"I know that...sir," he added the address after a pause of almost surly indignation, "but it couldn't be helped. We're on our way now. ETA in..." he checked his watch, "thirty minutes. We'll debark for the Daedalus ASAP, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir." He shut the phone, cursing to himself.

Moira touched his arm. "John? Are we late?"

"Yes." He met her gaze. "And I'm getting all kinds of flak for it, but it doesn't matter. Here." He handed her the phone. "Don't you want to call your uncle?"

"Um, no. I can do it later. At the base."

"There won't be time, honey. We've got to keep moving. Call. The phone's got a secure satlink so you can call anywhere. Where is he, exactly?"

"Ireland."

"Ireland? Oh. And he's the one married to Cruella?"

She smiled. "Yes. That's why he's in Ireland."

John smiled. "Can't say I blame him. Call. Tell him you are Moira Sheppard now." He grinned as she smiled, grinned with pure delight. "Wow! You just lit up like a Christmas tree, baby."

"I can't help it, John! The way you said that name...it makes me all giddy."

He laughed. "Giddy? Remind me not to say it during sex, then. Hmm, tell me, what is sex with Moira Sheppard going to be like?" He grinned at her enjoyment.

She kissed him. "John..."

"Call," he prompted. "I'll behave. In fact I'll take a quick nap." He slouched, getting comfortable in the plush seat of the car.

Moira wasn't fooled. Nevertheless she opened the phone. Dialed. Waited. Waited. Static crackled. Then a distant ringing. Her uncle's voice. "Uncle Seamus?"

"Seamus?" John muttered, amused.

"Yes! It's me," she laughed at his surprise. "No, no, Aunt Peggy–"

"Cruella," John interjected. She elbowed him, scooted to the other side of the seat.

"–didn't terrorize me. John saved me. John. John! Yes, that guy. Yes, it was nice of him to show up and he..." She glanced at him. He was seemingly oblivious, eyes closed. Head down.

"What? How did you...how did you know?" she wondered at his correct guess. "And yes, he did propose but we, um, we already did it."

John smirked. "Three times."

"Shut up, John!" she warned, blushed. "No, not you, uncle!" John laughed. "We already got married. But it was a civil ceremony not a...hello? Hello?" She sighed, closed the phone. "Lost him." She threw the phone into his lap. "So much for behaving, colonel."

He smiled, sat and took the phone. "You can try again if we have time. Sounds like he knew anyway. Or was that a bit of O'Meara blarney?" he asked in an Irish accent.

She laughed. "No. He said he could hear it in my voice."

"Ah. Of course." He scooted close to her, kissed her. "Well, I can see it when I say the magic words." He whispered in her ear, "Moira Sheppard." He sat back as she beamed, grinning. He gently laughed. "Ah, Moira..."

"I can't help it, John, so stop teasing me! Besides, aren't you–"

"Happy? Yes, I am. But my name's always been John Sheppard so it doesn't affect me like it does you, baby."

"Hmm...maybe I should have insisted on calling you John O'Meara," she teased.

He laughed. "I don't think so, baby. We're Sheppards now. B oth of us. Hey, Moira...we've got about half an hour. How about some kinky married limo sex. Now that I've made an honest woman of you. Or is that off the books?"

She laughed. "Hilarious, John. We're not having limo sex."

He sighed. "Are you sure? I bet Moira O'Meara would have gone for it. No, I bet that Moira Sheppard would go for it, hmm? Oh hell, you are too giddy now anyway," he complained, seeing her elation. Enjoying it as much as she did. He pulled her against him. Stroked her arm.

She snuggled into him. "Oh John, John, it's been so wild! So inappropriate. So fast!"

"I know, baby. But damn it's been wonderful," he agreed. "When we reach the SGC and the Daedalus not a word to anyone. All right? Let's keep it our little secret for now. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed dreamily.

He debated. Knew the difficult part was coming. Knew he had to convince her, cajole her but he hated to allay any of her joy, of his. Decided he would wait until they were in transit for Atlantis.


	6. Chapter 6

Kin Recognition6

John braced himself. Glanced over his shoulder to see Moira directing a marine as he took their bags. As she followed him, carrying yet another bag, talking all the while. He smiled. Then resumed his journey. He entered Hammond's office. Stood waiting as the general was on the phone. His tone serious. Seeing the younger man George gestured to a chair, resumed his conversation in a quiet voice. The Texas drawl softening the stern words.

John seated himself. Waited. Glanced down at his left hand. The gold wedding band glinted in the office's lights. A smile stole across his face, was gone as he heard the phone placed back into its receiver. He looked up to see the general eying him. "Sir? I'm sorry we were late."

"Yes." George folded his hands on the desk. "Son, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. This just came through yesterday. It concerns Doctor O'Meara. Son, I'm afraid she's on the transfer list. Is being recalled from Atlantis." Sympathy shone from his eyes, his voice gentle.

John looked down, as if upset, but really he was schooling his expression. Knew he had to proceed carefully here. Very carefully. He met the general's gaze. "Thank you for telling me, sir. The thing is...well...the reason we were late." He held up his hand, displayed the gold ring.

George stared, uncomprehending. Then smiled. "You...congratulations, son!" He stood, held out a hand. John smiled, took it. George heartily shook the younger man's hand.

"Thank you, sir. We just, well...so...I suppose that transfer list thing is now void. Right?"

"Yes, since you've..." George eyed him. "Quite a coincidence, isn't it, colonel?"

"Yes, sir. Most fortuitous," John agreed. Not revealing anything.

George eyed him. "Huh." There was a sparkle in his eyes, but he grew solemn. "I wish you all the best, son. Just be sure you did this for the right reasons. Not the wrong ones."

"Yes, sir. Like I said, it was just a coincidence. I had been planning to ask her. That's why I insisted I be allowed to go after her, not just because of the funeral of her grandmother and all."

"Huh." George wasn't buying it, but he let it slide. "Well, you'd best go catch your flight back to Atlantis, John. Congratulations, again. I hope you'll be as convincing when the IOA comes calling."

"Yes, sir. Me too, sir," he admitted with a quick smile, a shrug.

* * *

Moira sat in the small cabin on the Daedalus that had been assigned to her. She eyed her bags dumped on the floor. She lifted one to set beside her on the bed. She smiled. Eyed the two rings on her finger. Still astonished over the speedy rush from honeymoon to engagement to marriage. The extravagant romance, gifts. The extravagant sex. She touched the necklace under her t-shirt, amazed at its beauty, at John's generosity. She sighed. Carefully removed it and placed it in a box. Slid the box into one of her packs.

The ship was quiet. En route to the Pegasus galaxy. She had not seen John ever since the ship had entered hyperspace, but assumed he was busy with Caldwell so did not worry. She glanced out at the viewport to see the streaks of stars as the ship sped along on its journey. It would take eighteen days to reach Atlantis. Eighteen days on the ship. Eighteen days of being married to John. She smiled.

Tried to picture how their lives would change in Atlantis. Tried to imagine how to tell everyone. She grinned, repeated her new name to herself in her head. She stood, opened her bag and dug through it, searching for the surprise she had gotten John. Her husband. She sighed happily.

* * *

John strolled through the ship, hands in his pockets. He reached a cabin door. Hesitated. Braced himself for yet another confrontation. Knowing this one would not go as smoothly as his earlier conversation with General Hammond. He glanced round. Knocked on the door. "Moira? I need to talk to you."

Moira moved to the door, opened it. Smiled. "John."

He smiled, her joy washing over him. Her love. Brown eyes sparkling. He entered the room, shut the door behind him as she moved towards the bed.

"Is everything all right in Atlantis?" she asked, fishing around in the bag again.

"Yes. I need to talk to you," he repeated, uncertain how to proceed. Loath to quash her joy.

"Oh! Here it is, John! I...I had this made for you." She turned, held up a navy t-shirt. With the legend across it in gold lettering _Galaxy's Sexiest Pilot._

He smiled. "Damn right, baby. And don't you ever forget it."

"What? Oh no!" she teased, turning the shirt to read it. "This is the wrong one! Sorry, John! Oh, this is rather awkward. This one is for Evan. Yours is in here somewhere...it reads second sexiest, no, I think it reads third." She laughed at his scowl. Squealed as he suddenly grabbed her, swatted her rear. "John!"

"When we get back to Atlantis, baby, I am going to strip that pert little ass and then spank it blue!" he threatened. Caught her mouth in a kiss, yanking her body to his. He freed her, took the shirt. Smiled. Placed it back in her bag. "Keep it for me until we get home, sweetheart. Hey...isn't this mine as well?" He fingered a gray shirt. Pulled it out to reveal the _Star Wars _logo on the faded material. "I wondered what happened to this. Moira?"

She shrugged. Appeared uncomfortable. Stuffed it back into the bag. "Sorry, John. I...before I left I...I needed...I needed something of yours, something I could hold onto to, to feel, to touch, to..I needed...I needed...I needed you," she explained in a nervous stammer. She hugged him suddenly. "John."

His arms enfolded her. He kissed her brow. "You've got me, baby. Always." As she drew back he touched her throat. Tenderness in his eyes, a warmth that beguiled her. "Necklace?"

"Huh? Oh. I took it off and put it safely in my bag. It's too ostentatious for Atlantis."

"Good." He relaxed a little, seeing an opening. "Moira, about, about Atlantis. Look, Moira..."

"Oh oh," she commented, worried.

He plunged ahead, eyes on her bag. "Honey, I need you to do something for me." He took her hands, drew her to sit with him on the bed. Met her gaze. "Moira, sweetheart, for just a little while, just a little while we need to play this low-key. Okay? Don't tell anyone yet. I mean, I'll have to tell Elizabeth, of course, but no one else needs to know. Right now. I mean if they outright ask you then yes, of course, tell them, but don't volunteer the intel right now. Not yet."

She stared. "John? Why? Do you have another wife in the Pegasus galaxy?"

"No! Don't be ridiculous, Moira. Just for now I want to downplay this. Avoid the fuss and bother and all of the–"

"Problems? John, what are the problems?" she demanded, freeing her hands but he caught them again. Keeping them in his. He eyed the rings on her finger. "John!"

"Look, Moira, just for a little while, okay? Don't volunteer the intel unless directly asked. I don't want you to have lie or anything. And, and for now I'd rather we didn't wear our rings. On our fingers, openly. You can put yours on a chain under your shirt and I'll put mine with my dog tags. Close to my heart. But we–"

"Can the sentiment, John! Why?" She pulled her hands free as he met her irate gaze. "Look, John, we did rush into this. If you're having second thoughts I can understand that. We can always have this declared null and void. Don't we have a period of time to renege the–"

"No! I want you, Moira. You are Moira Sheppard now." He smiled at her reaction. The flash of a grin, of joy. Until it faded. "Honey, it's not that. Not at all."

"Then what? Why the secrecy? What are the problems?" she asked, not entirely believing him.

He sighed. Took her hands again. "Please, Moira. Please just do as I ask. Do you love me, Moira?"

"Of course I do, John! I wouldn't have married you if I didn't–"

"Then trust me. You do trust me, right?"

"Yes. But you–"

"Then do this for me. Okay? Let's avoid all of the hubbub and fuss and bother, for now. I want this low-key at the moment. Besides, it will be fun to rattle them, won't it?" He offered a quick smile. "Moira, please."

Moira pulled free, turned away from him. "Then why, John?" She stood, moved to stare out the viewport. "Why did you marry me in the first place if we have to pretend otherwise? Why bother? From what you are saying nothing will have changed! We won't wear our rings, we'll try to be discreet, hell, we'll be in our own rooms, won't we? Hallways apart!"

"For the moment," he assured. "Give me time to work on new accommodations, will you? We'll still have separate rooms but share the same bed."

"Will we?" She turned to glare at him. "So what has changed? We already have all that! Why did you rush all of this? The, the romance, the sex, the honeymoon, the engagement, the marriage, why? Do you know how hard this is for me? Do you? After, after last time? After–"

"Moira, Moira," he moved to her. A sleek, smooth motion. He saw her tears, her sorrow through the anger. "Honey, I–"

"No!" She shoved him. "Here, then! Here!" She grabbed the rings on her finger, began pulling them off her. "Take back your fucking rings, then! Take it all back, John! Take back your fucking name! Be the ladies' man you obviously want to be!"

"No!" She grabbed her hands, stopping her. "Damn it, Moira, no! I want you!"

"You have me, John! You had me, so why–"

"Did I? Weren't you going to break up with me?" he challenged. Anger rising to the surface.

She faltered under his intense stare. "I...I...yes, I was...I mean...you...I couldn't...we were, we were rushing headlong into, into–"

"This! This, Moira! Whether you like it or not you are Moira Sheppard now! You are mine.

Mine! And I swear to God nothing and no one are ever going to take you away from me! Nothing gets between us, Moira. Nothing. No one."

She stared, startled by his grave tone. The utter sincerity in his brilliant green eyes. The flash of threat, of cold deliberation to protect her, to protect their relationship at all costs. At any cost. The sheer passion of his need for her. She swallowed. Voice mild now. "John, then why, why do we need to hide it?" she asked. Almost afraid to ask him.

"We're not hiding it, Moira. We're laying low for awhile, is all. Playing it low-key," he insisted, voice calmer.

"But why? So you can still have your precious ladies' man reputation? In case someone better comes along? In case of your lots some women offers you a–"

"No! Damn it, no!" With an effort he calmed himself. "No. That all ended when we became involved. Don't you know that, Moira? It's always been about you."

"What has, John? Your fucking ladies' man rep–"

He freed her hands only to pull her into an embrace. A lengthy kiss. Demanding. Sensual. Making her murmur in her throat. Mouth responding to his. Body responding to his. "Moira," he growled into her ear. "Don't ever doubt my love for you." He kissed her again, gently this time. Held her close. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You have to trust me."

"Trust you?" She shoved free of him. "What aren't you telling me, John? If you want me to trust you then tell me the truth! What are the problems? What prevents you from telling people?

To hide what we did? How do I know it's not just you?" She tugged at the rings again. "Fuck you, then. Take back your rings and your vows and your paranoia and your–"

"No." He caught her, shoved her against the wall. Kissed her. She pushed but he pressed close to her, kissing her. "No!" he ordered. "You have to trust me, Moira! I'm not giving you up. Not now, not ever! You just have to trust me on this. What the hell do I have to do to prove the depth of my feelings for you? I married you, didn't I? What more do you want? Please, honey, I love you. I want you to be Moira Sheppard, not O'Meara."

She hit his chest, trying to move. "I hate you, John! I hate–"

"You love me, Moira, you love me so much that for some insane reason you can't quite believe how much I love you. Just for a little while I need you to do this. For me. For us. Look, part of it is military protocols. Even though you are not on my team you are on one of my teams so it complicates matters. But I can work through the red tape on that. It just takes time. The truth is I didn't exactly follow protocol in this. I didn't announce my intentions or fill out the forms. I just did it."

"Oh," she said, somewhat mollified.

"And yes, part of it is me. I don't want the fuss and the bother. As you said, there'll be enough fucking speculation when we get back. I hate that shit, Moira, you know I hate people interfering in our privacy. Even if they mean well. None of it changes how I feel about you. I'd do it all over again in exactly the same way. You know I'm right. We both just need this to be over. Done. Mission accomplished. With as little collateral damage as possible. I won't leave you, Moira. And you're sure as hell not breaking up with me. You're stuck with me. Sorry."

She calmed, somewhat mollified by his terse explanations. His profusion of love, concern. She debated. Decided. "Okay, John."

"Okay, John? Okay, John? That's it? You understand me? That it has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with you, or me, or the way we feel? Moira?"

She met his gaze. "What do you want, John? I said okay!" she snapped.

He smiled. Kissed her. "Okay, Moira. Okay." He ran his mouth along her throat. Relaxing his hold to slide his hands down to her hips. "Okay, sweetheart. Okay, baby." He nibbled her earlobe, whispered in her ear, "Okay, Moira Sheppard."

Moira smiled, couldn't help the swell of elation, of love. "John."

He smiled. "I want to have sex with Moira Sheppard. Now."

"Now? Here? We'll have to be–"

"Quiet, I know. But I want to see."

"See? See what, sweetie?" she asked breathlessly as he kissed her throat. Hands sliding between her legs. Touching. Teasing. He kissed her, tongue probing. As he unzipped her pants. Slid his hand to touch her panties. To caress. She murmured.

"I want to see if sex with Moira Sheppard is as good as it was with Moira O'Meara," he teased into her ear. "Or," he paused, unbuttoning her pants. Pulling them down, "if it's even better."


	7. Chapter 7

Kin Recognition7

Moira returned his kisses. Eager. Almost desperate to have him, to claim him. She stepped out of her pants, flung herself into his arms. He lifted her, carried her to the bed where he set her gently onto the mattress. He moved over her. Moira opened her legs, still kissing, still grasping.

She ran her mouth along his jaw, up his throat to circle his ear.

John moaned, reacting. He unbuttoned, unzipped his pants. Yanked them down. Her fingers flew to his boxers, touching. Teasing. Making him groan into her hair. He fingered her panties, yanking them down, down, off, nearly ripping them. Shoving her legs apart as she pulled on his erection suddenly. Hand squeezing until he groaned. Loudly.

"Ssh!" she warned, freeing him. Scooting up the bed. But he pursued her. Yanked open his shorts. Tearing them down and entering her with a quick but careful thrust. She was ready, wet and snug. Embracing him as he thrust, thrust. Deliberate, slow, tense motions. His breath quick, raw on her skin.

Moira murmured, whimpering as he kept moving. Harder. Harder. But not faster. Not yet. She tried to keep quiet, to soften her sounds, her reactions. Holding onto him as he rocked her. One methodical thrust after another. Stifling his groans against her breasts still covered by her shirt. He exhaled, began to breathe easier as the tension coiled, coiled. He moved faster now, bringing them to the edge, circling with pleasure, anticipation.

John kissed her as she squirmed beneath him. Small sounds escaping her pursed lips. John kissed her hard, deep. Taking in her cries, her gasps as his groans filled her mouth. The bed was rocking awkwardly. The springs squeaking loudly. He broke from her mouth to groan loudly, couldn't hold it in as the pleasure mounted, mounted. Tension unbearable. Hardness demanding more. More. More. "Moira, my Moira! Fuck fuck fuck fuck you are so sweet," he said low. Voice a rasping snarl.

"John! Oh John, John please John please John John," she whispered. As the climax abruptly escalated into vibrant orgasmic pleasure she cried out. Gasping, arching. Crying out his name loudly as he kept taking her. Faster. Harder.

"Moira! Fuck!" he exclaimed as he came in a rush. Release exploding the tension from his body. He kept moving, moving, unable to stop. Creating eddies of pleasure, ripples traveling their bodies. Moira was writhing beneath him, clutching, soft sobs and moans music to his ears. He grunted, moaned with a long breath as the final spasm shook him. Eased him. Fulfilled him.

He fell upon her. Kissed her throat and ran his tongue to her earlobe. One hand sliding under her shirt, under her bra to clasp a breast. "Moira."

"John..." she exhaled, relaxing. Exhausted by the sex. By the emotion. She felt a surge of tears. Stroke his hair, his back. Fingers sliding under his shirt. "Oh John."

He heard her sorrow, lifted to view her teary face. He kissed her lips, her cheeks, tasting her tears. Drinking them in as if he could swallow her sorrow, her fears. "Moira? Sweetheart? What is it?" He slid out of her.

"John...you...that wasn't, that wasn't goodbye sex, was it? You're leaving me, aren't you?"

"What? Hell, no! Moira." He kissed her again. Stroked her cheek. "Damn it, Moira, I'm not leaving you. You are mine now. In every way." He kissed her again. "Baby, that was our first married sex, and it was pretty damn good. So don't you think I'm ever leaving you or any other nonsense."

"But you, you–"

He sighed. "Trust me, sweetheart. Would you just trust me? For a little while this is ours. Okay? Just ours. The two of us."

"I'm sorry, John. I...the past, the past, the..."

"I don't care what those fucking few, few men of yours did to you, Moira. I'm not them. I'm yours now. That's all that matters."

"Okay, John."

He kissed her. "Please, Moira. Trust me on this. I need this."

"Okay, John."

He smiled. Settled upon her comfortably. "So fucking sweet," he muttered. Shifted. Shifted again. Heard her soft gasp as she moved. He smiled lazily, lifted his head to view her. "Hmm...like that, do you? Right there, baby, huh?"

She kissed him as he moved. "John? You...oh my, colonel! Your ordnance is becoming so hard. Again! How do you–"

"You. So fucking sweet." He slid down her body. Mouth moving along her bare thigh. Crossing to taste more intimate areas when she gasped.

"John! No, no, I'll be too loud! John, oh John!" she whimpered as his mouth teased, tormented. Making her tremble, quiver.

He freed her. Slid up only to thrust inside her. Groan. "Moira, my Moira. Fuck!"

"Ssh, sweetie!"

"No sweetie during sex," he reminded. "Tighter. Tighter, baby."

Moira cried out as he began to move faster, faster. Rocking the bed wildly. The springs squeaking in an odd cacophony to their moans and escalating sighs. A knock on the door made her freeze. Tense. Clench so exquisitely over him he thrust hard, grunted deeply. "Ssh!" she warned. "Um, yes?" she called awkwardly. John still inside her. Hard. Shifting. His body pressed to hers. Poised on the brink of release.

"Doctor O'Meara, have you seen Colonel Sheppard?" asked a voice.

"I...um..." She frowned as John quietly laughed into her hair. "John!" she scolded in a harsh whisper. Replied loudly, "No. I haven't seen him for hours." She smiled as John glowered. Realizing what she was doing. The sounds of their sexual intercourse unmistakable. "I have no idea where he is," she added breathlessly.

John's gaze narrowed. He caught her wrists. Pinned them to either side of her head. Slid out only to thrust inside her. "Right fucking here," he snarled. Voice low, slithering along her skin, along her body. A tone of pure possessiveness. She gasped.

"Are you all right, doctor?" asked the voice beyond the door.

"Yes! I'm fine, fine, fine," she called as she squirmed. John's motions all but impossible to keep from her voice. "John!" she whispered harshly.

"No. One. Gets. Between. Us." He punctuated each terse word with a rough thrust. Deeper. Harder. Grunting as annoyance and passion collided. Moira found herself writhing, lifting to take all of his hard length as he began to move faster, faster. Her knees bent, her back arched. Arms still pinned to the bed as he held her down, kept her beneath him.

"Damn it, John, cut it out!" she scolded, but arched, whimpered as he pounded her into the cot. Rushing them both as the bed squeaked and rocked noisily. "John, oh John! John!" Her voice a frail, stuttering whimper as the pulsing climax burst within her.

John groaned loudly, not caring. Not anymore as the orgasm hit him. Release from the straining, the interruption, the holding back. He ignored her protests, lost himself in the sexual moment. The dominance, the submission. The friction building, building to an abrupt release. Spurting messily inside her. A long exhale of pleasure, passion. Then he fell upon her. Sated. He freed her wrists.

"John! Damn it, John!" she scolded, squirming but could not move under his weight.

"Ah fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck that is so fucking sweet! So fucking tight! So–"

Moira covered his mouth with her hand. "John! Be quiet and stop swearing so damn much!"

He kissed her hand. Laughed. Kissed her passionately. He freed her. Settled. "It doesn't matter, baby. I just had sex with Moira Sheppard. Exuberant sex."

"It does matter! No one knows I'm Moira Sheppard!" she scolded, but a grin stole across her face.

He smiled. "It doesn't, sweetheart. We're still lovers, right? Although now because of your little joke they'll all be wondering who just fucked you into the wall!" he scolded.

"I'm sure they heard me call your name, sweetie," she retaliated. "Oh John. Oh John Anderson!" she deliberately bated.

He frowned. "That's it!" He rolled off her.

"John? John, I was just–" she began worriedly, wondering if she had pushed him too far. He was irritated. But so damn sexy that way she couldn't help herself. Wanting him pissed to turn that into vivid passion.

He glowered, but smiled. A sly, wicked smile that made his brilliant green eyes sparkle. He rolled her onto her stomach. Swatted her rear. "There, you naughty girl!"

"John! You can't–" she protested, scrambling but he held her down again.

"I can. And I will. Pert little ass!" He swatted, squeezed, swatted.

Moira scrambled wildly, gasping, whimpering with each spanking, with each squeezing. "John!" she cried out as he grabbed, spanked hard, squeezed tightly. She slid up the cot, head nearly hitting the wall. Felt him shoving her thighs apart. "John!"

"Pert little ass," he growled. Yanked her up onto her knees. Pushed her gently to the wall. "Pert little pussy," he whispered hotly in her ear. Thrust into her before she could move, or protest.

Moira whimpered, moaned, hands scrambling for purchase, any purchase as he pulled her out some, angling her for a better position. Thrusting hard now, but careful not to hurt her. Sliding in and out as she flooded, sobbed. Pleasure riding, riding them both. As if she was a banquet and he fully intended to savor every course, every dish on the menu. Rocking her now, rocking the bed in a crazy, wild uneven bouncing. The springs squeaking loudly.

"How's that, baby? Who's in your sweet center now? Say it! Scream it!" he ordered. Hands sliding from her breasts to her hips to guide her, haul her onto him. Take all of him. Faster.

"John! John oh John!" Moira gasped, orgasms flowering wildly. All over as shifted yet again. She splayed her hands on the wall so she didn't fly into it. Enjoying the aggressive sex as much as he was, although she would never admit it. Having goaded him to this possessive passion.

"Say it!" he ordered. "Fuck, fuck, fucking sweet!" he exulted.

"John! Oh John! John Sheppard! John Sheppard!" she cried, voice rising, falling as the climax took her, propelled her helplessly. Body straining, then relaxing as the wave broke at last. He kissed her shoulder, hauling her upright as he groaned, swore, shuddered. The last of his energy spurting inside her.

He pushed her to the wall. Leaned on her as he slid out. "Fuck. Fuck, Moira! The things you do to me. Moira. Moira Sheppard. And wait, who just fucked you to oblivion again? Who?"

"John. John Sheppard," she replied. Catching her breath. Moving. He collapsed onto the bed. Breathing deeply. Moira snuggled up next to him. Kissed him. Light, gentle kisses over and over. As he relaxed. "John Sheppard," she said into his ear. Gently bit. "Just fucked himself into oblivion too, right?"

He weakly laughed. "Yeah. Fuck."

"John, no kinky on the Daedalus," she warned.

He smirked at her prim tone. As her half-naked body was pressed to his. As the sex hovered in the air. Palpable. He kissed her. "Shit. We better find a more secure twenty for exuberance. Hmm..."

"No, sweetie. No more sex until we reach Atlantis."

He sighed. "We'll see." He met her gaze. "Remember, this is ours. All ours. Privacy." He touched her left hand. The two rings. "Just you. Me. All right?"

"Fine," she grumbled. Sighed. But smiled. "I bet I wouldn't have all this complications with John...Anderson."

He frowned as she softly laughed. But smiled. Caught her and rolled her onto her back. "Maybe not, but you sure as hell wouldn't have this!"

"Oh! John Sheppard!"

* * *

John waited on the bridge of the Daedalus. Watched the city loom larger in the viewport. He was oddly nervous. Switching his bag from one shoulder to the other. He looked over as Moira joined him. Carrying her bags. Silently she raised her left hand to show him the absence of the two rings. He nodded. Saw her disgruntlement. Ignored it. "Go." He took one of her bags, led her through the ship as it smoothly landed. "There will be eyes on us, Moira. Reveal no intel. For now. Moira?"

"Whatever, John," she sighed. Frowned.

"You seem unsatisfied, Moira. Frustrated. It's been a long three weeks, hasn't it? Even after that spectacular first married day and night we had, huh? Talk about a fucking honeymoon!" He laughed proudly. "Still...three weeks after that. I bet you didn't even need a spare, did you?" he teased.

"Shut up, John. And it's only been two, well, two and a half. I thought you would need that much time to recover, sweetie. I didn't think you'd be able to get it up before now."

"Well, you thought wrong, baby. And you'll learn that soon enough, I promise. Of course, that all depends."

"Depends on what?"

He waited until they were alone again, striding towards the hatchway. "Tell me, baby, did you, um, self-deploy during those long, lonely nights?"

"Not as often as you, colonel, I'm sure! Besides, that's on a need to know basis."

He laughed. "Oh Moira, I need to know. I really, really need to know."

"That's classified, colonel."

"You're under my purview, doctor. So I need to know. In detail."

"I don't think that's proper military procedure. And I haven't been under your purview in weeks."

"Who wants to be proper? We certainly won't be tonight, when you will be under my purview repeatedly. Here we go." He led her into the city. Paused for a second. Elizabeth Weir was already heading for him. Rodney McKay and Carson Beckett were standing together, quietly talking. Watching.

"Give." Moira took her bag from him. Her fingers brushed his a moment. A whisper of a caress. He met her gaze. Smiled.

He took a step closer to her. "Moira Sheppard," he whispered. Smiled as she smiled, grinned. Looked down to hide it. "Moira," he complained, pouting.

"Sorry, John." She shrugged. "Don't say it," she whispered .

"Go." He turned, expression schooled to a neutral one as their friends advanced.

Carson smiled. "You owe me five dollars."

"What? Why?" Rodney asked. "I saw no evidence that he proposed."

"But I saw it. He did." Carson's Scottish voice was full of smugness. Of enjoyment.

"No, he didn't! They acted normal! You can't tell by one innocuous touch! One look! I didn't see a ring on her finger!"

"Nevertheless he did. So pay up."

"No. And to prove you are wrong I will ask him!"

"Go right ahead. I'll go ask Moira. And you will pay me."


	8. Chapter 8

Kin Recognition8

Moira set her bags on the floor, staring at her bed. The blankets were mussed. The comforter rumpled. She wondered, feeling like the Three Bears discovering that someone had been sleeping in her bed. She smiled. Tenderness filled her, realizing that it could only have been John. She touched the rings hanging from a chain under her shirt. A knocking on the door made her turn. Drop her hand to her side. She opened the door. "Carson. Please."

Carson entered, smiled. "It's good to have you back, love. How are you? I am so sorry about your grandmother."

"Thank you." She sighed. "The funeral was hard, but I got through it. And then John...John showed up right afterwards so..."

"Yes." Carson couldn't keep the grin off his face. He hugged her. "Congratulations, Moira!"

"Huh?" She pulled back, startled. "I...I.."

"Am I wrong?" Carson asked, blue eyes sparkling. "You are glowing with happiness, Moira! The way John was looking at you, whatever he said to make you beam like that I could see it across the room! He proposed, didn't he? I had a feeling he might, especially after taking an extra day to be with you."

"I...Carson..." She smiled, recalling John's admonishments. Do not tell. But do not lie either. "Yes. Yes! Yes, he did!" she exclaimed, unable to contain her joy. "He did! And we did! I mean we're already married!"

"What?" Carson asked, surprised. "He married you already?"

She grinned. Nearly jumping up and down in her excitement. Happiness. "Yes! Oh Carson, it was so romantic! So romantic!" she gushed, unable to stop herself. Moving round the room as if unable to keep still. "He rescued me from that horrible reception, those horrible people, took me to a fancy hotel, bought me such beautiful, amazing..." she caught herself before revealing his wealth, "things, and roses! Roses and we...we had this amazing dinner and wine and then oh he was so..." She paused, deleting the vigorous, repeated sex, "and then John wanted to do it right away."

"I bet he did," Carson agreed with a laugh.

"Carson!" she scolded, but laughed even as she blushed, "I mean the wedding! We did all of it, the honeymoon, the engagement, the wedding all in one go! One glorious night and day because it was all we had before we had to come back here! He loves me, Carson! He really loves me! I love him! I love him, Carson, I love him!"

Carson laughed, charmed. "Yes, Moira, I've been aware of you two for some time now. I am happy for you both! This is marvelous news! Wow. You are Moira Sheppard now."

"Yes!" She grinned, giggled. "Yes, I am! Oh!" She calmed, became serious. "You can't tell anyone, Carson! Not yet! John said we have to keep it low-key for now. That's why I'm not wearing the ring, nor is he. Some sort of problems, military stuff, I don't know, but you can't tell anyone yet. Please."

"All right, love. I won't tell a soul. What sort of military restrictions could there be?"

"I..." she faltered, "I don't know, something to do with his position here, the teams, I guess, but he was adamant about it. And I trust him. I do trust him."

"All right, Moira. Mums the word. Congratulations!" He smiled. "I'll leave you to unpack." He left, wondering how he would get his five dollars now.

* * *

"So...did you have a nice time?" Rodney asked, gaze examining his friend for any telltale sign of something different. Something momentous. But John appeared the same. Exactly the same.

John frowned. "It was a funeral, Rodney, so no. Which I missed, by the way. Damn reports at the SGC."

Elizabeth sighed. "Oh. I'm sorry, John."

"If I had been informed sooner–" he began.

"You were off-world. You never would have made it in time to go with her. Moira seems fine. Let's go to my office." She led him off the pier. "Everything's been quiet while you've been gone."

"Good. I should have been contacted the minute Moira was informed," he continued. "She needed me with her. You have no idea how horrible her–"

"It couldn't be helped, John. We've been over this. I've got the updated mission roster for you," Elizabeth stated, breezily ignoring his objections.

"Good. I should have been–" John persisted.

"You got there when you could. Obviously Moira is fine. You even took an extra day," she accused. Glanced over her shoulder at him as they climbed the stairs.

"Yes, you did," Rodney chimed in as he followed. "What did you do on that extra day?"

John glanced at him. "You really want to know?"

"Well, no, uh...I mean, obviously you were with Moira. I mean..." he stammered.

"Obviously." John closed the door before Rodney could enter the office. He moved to the desk as Elizabeth took her seat. Pulled a laptop to her. John sat on the desk, viewed the roster as she turned it to him. "Two teams out, one back. Lorne's due in an hour," he summarized.

"Yes. His last report was fine, but he's thirty minutes overdue. Still, it could be nothing."

"Probably nothing, but we'll see. My team's scheduled to go to...P1R582 in a few days?"

"Yes, as previously scheduled. And now you're here to lead them. Is that a problem, John?" she asked, quirked a brow as she saw a flash of disappointment across his handsome face.

"No." He could imagine Moira's reaction but she knew how life went out here as well as he did. "That's fine. If Lorne doesn't report in thirty we'll check it out." He stood, moved towards the door, bag slung over his shoulder. Smiled. Saw Rodney lingering in the control room. Pacing like a lion waiting to pounce on its prey.

"Was there something else, John?"

"No. Oh, yeah." He sauntered back to the desk. Said in an offhand manner, "you need to make a personnel status change."

"Oh?" Elizabeth brought up the screen. "Who is it?"

John smiled. "Moira O'Meara."

"Moira? How has her status changed?"

"It's not O'Meara any more. It's Moira Sheppard now."

"What?" Elizabeth's shocked gaze met his smug one. "John? Are you, are you serious? You–"

"Yes. I've got the papers in my bag. So, you'll make that change?"

"I...you...how...you...you only had day a to–"

"Yeah, and we're keeping it quiet for now. You know how people talk and interfere. So as of now if anything happens involving Moira I am to be informed immediately. Even if I am off-world."

"You...you married her? Just like that? Were you even engaged?" Elizabeth stammered, stunned. Staring at John as if she had never seen him before.

John shrugged. "Of course we were. For about...let's see...two hours or so. It's a done deal. So you'll make that status change? Thanks." He sauntered out of the office, amused at her disbelief, her shock. He met Rodney in the control room. "Let's grab some lunch."

"Okay. You can tell me about your trip," Rodney agreed. Glancing up to see Elizabeth in the doorway to her office, staring at them. "Hey, did you...oh wait! Hold on." Rodney moved to Carson. John continued to the cafeteria. "Well? I haven't had a chance to ask him yet. Well?"

Carson smiled. Knew he should keep quiet but couldn't. "Yes. You owe me five dollars."

"You're kidding!"

"No, I'm not," the doctor assured. "And what's more, Rodney, he not only proposed but married her as well. Don't tell a soul!"

"What? No, no way! He would never–"

"I just talked to Moira. He did. They did."

"What? No, no way!" Rodney repeated. "She is obviously deluded! Sheppard? Do you know how incredibly preposterous that is? Preposterous enough to think he'd propose but then to actually marry her on the same day?"

Carson frowned. "He loves her, Rodney."

"I'm sure he does, for now. But come on, Carson! You would invent such fantasies just to get your precious five dollars! Wait, is Moira in on this?"

"Rodney, no! Go ask John if you don't believe me!"

"I will! And I'll tell him it was your silly idea and he'll be pissed at you for even putting the notion of marriage into Moira's head!"

John had just taken a big bite out of his sandwich when Rodney joined him. Tray uncharacteristically devoid of food.

"I would have thought you'd be sitting with Moira," Rodney ventured. Using tact for a change instead of just blurting out his question.

John chewed, swallowed. Sipped some water. "I would be, except she's not here right now."

"Hmm." He eyed his friend's hand. His finger.

John smirked. "What?"

"Nothing. You should...you wouldn't believe how fanciful Carson is. Must be that wild, Celtic temperament. You know how emotional the Scots can be, well, the Irish too, I mean Moira's Irish, isn't she? Well, American but had Irish roots, but Carson, Carson's full-on Scottish which explains his sentimental and sappy streak, doesn't it? His–"

"Fanciful?" John asked, setting down his sandwich. Suspicious.

"We even had a bet on it, can you believe that? I knew it was a sure bet, too. But trust Carson to find a way round it, to cheat just to get his five dollars."

"A bet?" John asked, voice lowering.

"Yes! On whether or not you would propose to Moira." Rodney snorted. "As if you were on some wild romantic getaway with her, not at a funeral! And even if you were you'd never do something so preposterous. I tell you, that man's imagination knows no bounds. None!"

"Preposterous?" John inquired. Relief turning to irritation.

"Yes! I knew you'd agree, and I did try to warn him. About his romantic silliness. And don't let Moira hear about this, although Carson may have already suggested it to her. Once a woman gets a whiff of those words she'll never let it rest, John. Look at the trouble you had over that before, remember? From just a simple suggestion of getting closer rooms. How it escalated into the M word suggestion. Luckily you are not that kind of guy and luckily Moira wouldn't want to marry you anyway so–"

"She wouldn't?" John asked tersely.

"–there's no chance she'd get hung up over the suggestion let alone the idea of marriage. What with her dead, you know who and all I can't imagine her wanting to do that all over again. And you, well, that's hardly your style, is it now? The very thought is preposterous so by all rights I should get my five dollars at last from–"

"Preposterous?" John repeated curtly.

"Yes! I knew you'd agree! As if you would do such a thing! I mean, come on, John, we're both men of the world. You're John Sheppard, the darling of ascended women!" Rodney joked. Did not see his friend's glower. "Sure, you're seeing Moira now and that's great, how long you've been with her and all, but to jump from that to a proposal? He even said you had already married her! Preposterous! The things he'll say just to win a bet!" He shook his head. "Are you going to eat that?" Before John could reply Rodney snatched the other half of the sandwich. He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Suddenly noticed John was very still. Staring hard. "What?"

"I did," John admitted. Deciding.

"Sorry? Did what?"

"All of it."

"You..." Rodney laughed. "Very funny, John! First Moira, now you? Are you all in on this just to have Carson win the bet?"

"No! As preposterous and inappropriate as it was I did it. Not only proposed but married her."

"Yeah, right," Rodney scoffed. "Good one, John."

"I did!" John protested.

"Is that so? You're not wearing a ring. Nor is she."

"We have them. I can show you. I'm wearing it with my–"

"Yeah, sure," Rodney dismissed. "You even went so far as to provide props? Good one, John, but I'm not falling for it! Not this time. I'm still not paying Carson, no matter how elaborate your machinations are to ensure his victory."

"Damn it, Rodney, I did!" John flared, angry now. "Look! I can prove it!" He began pulling the chain from under his shirt.

"Ha ha, John. Joke's on me, right? What's next? You'll produce signed documents? You'll have Elizabeth initiate a status change? I'm surprised you'd go to such lengths for this bet. I'm more surprised at Moira's connivance. But you'd better watch yourself, John. Even Moira might take this too seriously once she thinks it over and decides she might just want to have a wed–"

"Rodney! Damn it, I did! I–"

"Give it a rest, will you? Geez! I'm not falling for another of your stupid pranks!" Rodney stood, snatching his empty tray and moving to the counter to fill it.

John cursed. Let the chain drop back under his shirt. Felt the wedding ring jingle against his dog tags. Torn between proving it or still concealing it. Knew he had to keep it quiet for now. But was pissed at Rodney's attitude, his disbelief. His mockery. He lifted his sandwich to his mouth for another bite when the PA blared.

"Colonel Sheppard, to the 'Gate room! Colonel Sheppard to the 'Gate room!"

John swore. Set down his sandwich. Stood and strode across the cafeteria.

Rodney sneered at John passed him. "What's this? Another bride?"

"Shut up, Rodney!"

"Maybe you need to institute a revolving door policy on proposals, Sheppard!" he called, laughing as John frowned, swearing under his breath.

* * *

John sat in the conference room. Considered as the initial report was finished. He folded his arms across his chest. "So...an abandoned Wraith lab?"

"Yes, sir," Evan Lorne agreed. Glanced at his team, at Elizabeth. "Or so we believe. It reeked of Wraith technology. We need to go back to get a closer look. I'll need O'Meara on this now that she's back."

"No." John noticed Elizabeth's raised brow. He continued laconically, "We'll need McKay on this. So my team will switch missions with yours. We'll go to M17248 and you can go to...what was it...oh yes, P1R582 in a few days. Enjoy the harvest ceremony, or linen exchange, or Morris dancers, whatever." Laughter circled the table as the men groaned.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot, sir," Evan quipped. Sighed. "I still need O'Meara with me, then. Otherwise I might kill Kavanaugh."

"Major Lorne," Elizabeth scolded, noting the absence of the scientist. Noting the nodded agreement of the two marines.

"It's true, ma'am," Aaron Josephes stated.

John smiled, but could feel Elizabeth's eyes on him. Waiting. Testing. "Well," he said amiably, "you'd better take her with you, then. You've got the specs for your new mission. Dismissed. Oh, Lorne, wait a sec. Elizabeth, if you wouldn't mind?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Oh...all right. Darn it," she grumbled, guessing his intentions. The topic of conversation. She exited reluctantly.

Evan held back as the room emptied. He closed the door. Stood behind a chair. Waited. Waited. "Sir? I trust that Moira is all right? After the funeral and all?"

"She's fine, major."

"I wanted to go with her," Evan explained, misunderstanding John's studious gaze, "but she insisted on going alone. I wasn't about to force my company on her, and I did try to contact you but Doctor Weir said there was no need."

"It's all right, major. I appreciate the attempt. Your duty was to stay here while I was off-world."

"Yes, sir. So O'Meara is still on my team?"

"Yes."

"Good. Thank you, sir." He headed for the door.

"Oh, major. It's Sheppard now." John decided, smiled. Tone casual. Offhand.

Evan turned back to him. Perplexed. "Sir?"

John straightened in the chair. Couldn't seem to stop himself from telling yet again. "Sheppard. My name."

"So it is, sir," Evan agreed. "I'm not following."

John smirked. "Yes, it is, major. As is Moira's. Moira O'Meara is now Moira Sheppard. But we're keeping it quiet now so don't say a word. To anyone."

"Sir? You? And Moira? You..."

"Yes," John confirmed, enjoying the look of surprise, of disbelief on the major's face. "You realize this means you better guard her life and welfare with your own. And if anything, I mean anything happens to her I will be notified immediately. I don't care what it is. If she breaks a anil you will inform me ASAP. If you thought I was overzealous before you haven't seen anything yet."

"Sir? Oh...oh..." Befuddled he stared. Alarmed and annoyed all at once.

"Dismissed." John waved his hand towards the door as if batting a fly.

"Yes, sir, I...sir." Evan faltered. "Oh, um, congratulations, sir."

"Thank you, major." John waited until Evan had left the room before letting his laughter erupt.


	9. Chapter 9

Kin Recognition9

Moira sat in the cafeteria, eating her lunch. Eyes on the open magazine near her tray as she perused a scientific article. All the while very conscious of the two rings resting against her chest under her shirt. The two rings that should have been on her finger if not for John's insistence.

Hearing a tray she looked up, smiled. "Hi."

Aaron smiled, joining her. "Hi Moira. I'm glad you're back! We're on a new mission in a few days, I guess. Some stupid harvest festival. The good news is that you are coming along."

"What? Oh." She sighed. "For some festival?"

"Yes." He laughed. "Admit it, you've been missing them, haven't you?"

"No!" They laughed.

"Seriously, Moira, you have to come back to our team. The major's come this close to killing Kavanaugh. I'm not kidding!" he declared, seeing her smile. "Without you there to keep him sweet there'll be murder!"

"Murder? Well, we can't have that," she teased.

"No, we can't." Evan joined them. Eyed Moira closely, especially her left hand. "Can you give us a minute, Aaron?"

"Oh, sure, sir. Glad to have you back, Moira."

"Glad to be back, I think," she commented as he left. "Another festival?"

Evan nodded. "How are you, Moira? I'm sorry about your grandmother. Is there anything you'd like to tell me? About anything. Anything I need to know?"

Moira shrugged. "No."

"No?" Evan relaxed. "I thought so," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Thought what?"

"Sheppard. Messing with me again, about you. They way he acts I'm surprised he ever lets you go off-world, Moira. And now this ludicrous assertion just to make damn sure I keep you safe. Like I would ever do otherwise!" he fumed. "What does he think I let you do on these missions? We follow every rule, every protocol. It's not like you ever run off by yourself, do you?"

She tensed. Set down her spoon. "What ludicrous assertions?" she asked. Voice serious.

Evan smiled. "That he actually married you. Like he would ever commit to you, to any woman to the point of actual matrimony. Like you would be foolish enough to accept, at your grandmother's funeral of all places! Like he'd be able to wed you at the snap of his fingers. In one day." He shook his head again. "What the hell is his problem, Moira? I know that he's dating you now, but does he have to rub it in my face on every mission?"

"He did," Moira said, startled by his disbelief, his mockery.

"Did he ever!" Evan agreed. "Acting so smug about it, then as if it was nothing. Which it is. Nothing. I mean I know, okay. Half the base knows about you two. It's not news, is it? I don't see why he keeps having to tell me, to remind me, to make sure I guard you like a–"

"No, you don't understand, Evan. He did. I did. We did. We got mar–"

"It's cruel, Moira, telling lies like that. Is he trying to hurt your feelings? Let me guess, he'll be dumping you soon and just has to give you the opposite impression? I'm sorry, Moira, but I did try to warn you about him. I did. You should have known better. A guy like that...he isn't capable of that kind of love, that kind of commitment."

"He is! He does. John never lies to me. He told you the truth, Evan. He married me," she corrected, trying to keep her voice down.

"Then where's the ring?"

"I have it–"

"Why the secrecy?"

"He, he said there would be problems, military–"

"Problems?" Evan scoffed. "Yeah, I can just imagine. Problems like he couldn't be the charming ladies' man any more? At least not on base when you're here. Problems like he'd have to treat you better, much better than just some piece of–"

"Evan! You know it's more than that! He told me. There's some sort of military–"

"There's no military problem, Moira, since you are a civilian! Are you really asking me to believe he was able to pull together a perfectly legal wedding on such short notice?"

"He, he did! He said the, the dress blues open all kinds of–" she stammered, doubting.

"Please! He's having you on, can't you see? God knows why. He's pretending. Why else all the secrecy? Why else can't you wear your ring? What is it, cubic zirconia or plastic?"

"Evan! It's real! It's all real!"

"Wow, he duped you, didn't he? All of those orgasms must be clouding your mind, Moira. Think! I'm surprised you even accepted in the first place. I thought you were smarter than that. Open your eyes. I should say something, I should go to Weir and protest this–"

"No! You can't say anything, please!" Her voice held desperation. Regret.

"Okay, it's embarrassing enough. You need to break up with him, Moira. Now. Seriously. Can't you see he's just having fun with you. With a weird, cruel streak that frankly makes me sick. To do that to you."

"No!" She stood. "He does not! It's not that! It's real. It's all real!" She felt tears. Rushed out of the cafeteria. Pushed past people in her haste, one of them being John who whirled in mid-stride.

"Moira? Moira!" He caught up to her, followed her into her room. He closed the door. "Moira?"

"It's nothing, John! Nothing!" She sighed, stood staring at her bed. "Why is my bed messed up like this?" She glared at him.

He shrugged. Swallowed. "I, um...I was having trouble. Trouble with my back and your bed is better than mine. So I...it was only a few nights. Sorry," he explained. Not mentioning the other reason, but he could see she knew by the flash of tenderness in her eyes.

Moira turned away from him. Eyes on the bed. "No one. Well, Carson. I'm sorry, John. But he knew. I mean, he knew you proposed, and I couldn't help myself so I told him. About how wonderful it all was. The whole thing. And he believed me. He is the only one! You, you told Evan, but he doesn't believe it! He doesn't even believe me! Hell, John, I was there and now I don't know if I believe it any more!" She turned to him. Angry. "Are we married, John?"

He smiled. Stepped to her. Tilted his head. "Hmm...are we married? Let me think."

"John! I'm serious!"

He relented. Slid his arms around her. "Yes. You are Moira Sheppard." He kissed her. "Rodney didn't believe me either. He pissed me off so much I let it slip, not that it matters." He drew her to sit on the bed. "Moira, you can trust me. You really think I'd deceive you like that?" He laid back, sighed. "Ah...I do miss that hotel bed. This is nice but that one...that one was fucking phenomenal."

She touched his thigh as his hand slipped up to stroke her back. "I...I don't think you would deceive me, John. It's just...no one believes it! No one! What are these problems that make you want to keep it secret? Besides the, the team thing."

"Not secret, honey. Just quiet. Low-key. Off the radar. Moira, it's only for a little while."

She sighed. "So what should we do?" His touch was soothing. His voice sincere. She looked at him. Turning slightly to see the serious expression on his handsome face. Beautiful green eyes locked onto her.

"Firstly, come here."

She laid next to him. Propped on her elbow to watch him. He kissed her, drawing her down to him. "Secondly?"

"What? Oh, secondly." He caressed her cheek, her throat. "Nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing. We do nothing."

"What?"

He smiled. Drew her down to his lips again. Savoring. "Thirdly, we have sex. Since I am going off-world tomorrow."

"Wait, back up. Nothing?"

He sighed. "Yes. Whatever we say it won't matter, now will it? Whatever we do it won't matter. So let it be. For now. Don't be upset, Moira. We know the truth, so who cares about the rest. It's private. Between us. Ours."

"But John, it's just–"

"No. Just a little while longer, okay? After this mission. Now kiss me like you mean it, baby."

"No. Why can't we at least tell a few–"

"No." He sighed. "Moira, you have to trust me, all right? If you love me than you must trust me. You must!"

"No one believes it, John! No one...no one believes you would want to do it...would want me. Could love me enough to give up your lots some women," she said softly, sadly.

He kissed her. Drew her onto him, then rolled so she was under him. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. That they don't believe. That they don't realize the depth of my feelings for you. But you do. It hurts me, Moira, this doubt you have about me. My feelings. Nothing is going to separate us, Moira. Nothing. Not even your doubts of me."

"John?" She touched his face, his jaw. "I...I don't mean to hurt you, I just...I just..."

"It hurts me, baby, when you say those things. Casting doubts on my love, my devotion. When all the while all I want is you." He ran kisses along her throat. Body moving in tandem to hers. Suggestive. Teasing.

"I...I..." she stammered, stunned by his admissions. But she paused. Pushed him gently back to view his face. "John, are you just trying to get laid?"

He smirked. "Yeah. No, no," he continued before she either got pissed or started to cry, "I did mean every word, Moira. I just have trouble saying it. You know that. But it is true. I love you. Moira Sheppard." He kissed her. A long, passionate motion of his mouth on hers. "My Moira."

She sighed, stroked his chest. Felt the dog tags, the ring underneath his shirt. "John, I'm sorry. I don't doubt you, I don't. You, um, you don't have the best reputation around here because of your–"

"Lots some women, yeah, I got that. It doesn't matter, honey. I only care about you. What you think. What you feel. All that stuff is in the past. Doesn't matter. Now there's only you." He kissed her again. Hand sliding to her hip.

"And you, you're leaving tomorrow?" she asked sadly.

"Afraid so, sweetheart. You know how it works around here." He kissed her. "We'll spend as much time together as we can, baby. But we're not on Earth anymore."

"I...I know...I just..." She kissed him. "John, we only just got married and now we have to pretend like nothing's changed between us."

"Nothing has, my Moira. Has it? The only thing different is that now we are inseparable. And soon, soon the whole city will know it." He shifted on her. "Moira, let me make it all better. All better, baby, hmm? Just you. Me."

She smiled. "Yes, oh yes. John. John Anderson,"she teased, laughed as he scowled. "Sorry, sweetie."

He smiled. "It's not funny, baby. And yes, you will be sorry. No. Not sorry. Sated."


	10. Chapter 10

Kin Recognition10

Moira hastened into the infirmary. "John! John!" She calmed, seeing him sitting on a bed, still in his dirty clothes. Black t-shirt, olive green pants. Cuts marred his forehead, his cheekbone. A bruise bloomed on his scruffy jaw. His clothes were messy, splattered with dirt and mud. Hearing her voice he looked over, smiled as she neared. Her face anxious, worried.

"Moira, I'm fine," he assured. "Just bruised and battered. But my ordnance is in complete working order," he added with a raised brow.

She smiled. Touched his hand as it rested on the bed. "John. Carson," she turned to the doctor, "is he all right?"

"Yes. Apart from bruises and cuts and a nasty scrape on his knee. Not to mention some very curious scratches on his back."

"Scratches? You..." She colored suddenly as John just smiled at her. "John!" she scolded.

"Hey, I didn't put them there," he defended, "nor did I say a word." He waited until Carson had stepped away from them. "Moira Sheppard." At her grin he smiled, chuckled. "Still? It's been almost a week, baby," he pretended annoyance.

"Sorry, John. And it's really not even that since we have been apart. And secretive. What happened to you?"

"You could at least kiss me. Injured man and all," he pouted, ignoring her question.

She stepped closer. Leaned in to kiss his cheek. "What happened to–"

He caught her arm, pulled her into a lengthy, passionate kiss. She drew back, flustered. "I said a kiss, baby, not just a–"

"John! No tongue in the infirmary!" she scolded.

He smirked, shrugged. "Where, then?" His gaze wandered over her brown shirt, gray pants.

She turned to Carson. "How soon can he be released?"

"Yes, how soon will I have release?" he echoed. Hand catching hers to keep her close.

"An hour," Carson answered over his shoulder. "I want to make certain he doesn't have a concussion."

Moira turned back to John. Sat near on the bed. "I'll sit with you, John. Tell me what happened. The Wraith labs?"

"I'd rather talk about this release, Moira. How soon?"

She frowned. "Shut up, John. The Wraith labs?" she prompted.

"Oh, wait." He freed her hand to slip it into the pocket of his pants. Pulled out a pair of satin, silky lavender panties. Waved them. "I believe these are yours, baby."

"John!" She blushed, grabbed them and shoved them into her pocket. "You son of a–"

He laughed. "I forgot I had them, I swear! Until I was off world, baby, and then they were a good luck charm. Those Wraith stunners nearly hit me, but missed every time I touched those silky, luscious little panties of yours. So fucking sweet and–"

"John!" she flared. "The Wraith lab wasn't abandoned?"

"No. I think Lorne needs to look up the definition of the word abandoned, because when we got there it was active," he complained. "But anyway, those panties of yours, they're not as luscious as they once were but I can make them deliciously sodden again, can't I?"

"John, will you focus!" she scolded, embarrassed at his teasing. Wondering at his evasion. "The Wraith. Were they using the lab? What for? What was their agenda? Did they have any–"

"Whoa! Are you Weir now, Moira? I'm not reporting to you. You're my wife, so take care of my every need. My every need. Now, about those delicious little panties...what color are you wearing now? I'd guess brown but sometimes you surprise me by a completely unexpected color and that makes me want to ow!" he complained as she hit his arm.

"Damn it, John, stop it! Don't you dare treat me like the little wife at home or I swear you'll never engage that ordnance in any kind of deployment again!"

He smirked, amused at her anger. Aroused. Wanting her to be angry, flustered. Anticipating the sex that followed those emotions. Hot. Wild. "Hey! Injured man and all. And I'll treat you however I wish, Moira Sheppard, because you are mine now. Every inch of you is mine. I am going to secure for myself another juicy pair of those skimpy little panties of yours. What color? Let me guess. Blue? No...maybe pink? Pink as those sweet, sweet–"

"John Sheppard!" she flared, moving to her feet. "Fine! You may as well retire that ordnance, flyboy, because it's never going to be deployed! If you can't behave or tell me about the mission I'll find someone who will. Like John Anderson, for instance," she teased with a smile.

John smugly smiled. "You go right ahead, baby. You'll be running back to me in no time. As for behaving, it's not me who is missing their undies, now is it? Oh! Oh shit! I think I had another pair and they fell out of my pocket somewhere in the city!"

She scowled. "Hilarious, John! You–"

He grinned. "I'm serious, Moira. Somewhere in this city a pair of your delicious, sexy little panties is lying on the floor. For any guy to find, to take, to pick up and savor that fucking sweet scent of your–"

"Damn it, John, you are so not funny! What the hell is wrong with you?" she flared, hitting his leg as he laughed. "Is this how you treat your wife? You are an incorrigible, kinky, insensitive son of a bitch!" But she moved closer. John expect her to hit him but she kissed his lips. Nibbling his lower lip quickly. She sighed. "Take care of him, Carson. I'll need him in one piece."

"Yes, she will, Carson. But Moira, you'll have to be gentle. But not too gentle." He winked at her.

She shook her head. "Shut up! I'll go ask Rodney about the mission. At least he can think above his belt!"

John laughed. "So can I, Moira. I haven't talked about the way that shirt hugs those–"

"Shut up!" she called over her shoulder, causing more laughter.

"Moira!" he called, "slow down! I want to see that pert little ass as you–"

"Eyes up, Sheppard!"

"Moira! Damn it," he sighed as she left. He met Carson's amused gaze. "What?"

* * *

Moira made her way to the physics lab. She neared as Rodney was engrossed in a pile of equipment. Typing on two monitors and shouting equations to Radek Zelenka who was busily engaged at a table and computer as well. She hesitated, loath to interrupt. Neared and touched the top of one console. Her hand brushed a tiny device and a blue light blinked. "Oops."

"What? What the heck is it now? I can't do twenty things at once! My limit is twelve!" he snapped. "Oh." He eyed Moira. The device. "Did you?" He snatched it.

"What is that?"

"What's left of the tracking device that Sheppard destroyed. I was trying to calibrate the dimensional energy signatures with our own Ancient systems but it is somewhat more advanced than ours so I had to table that."

"In other words it's a paperweight now," Radek commented, earning a scowl from Rodney.

"Here." Rodney gave it to her. She took it. The blue light did nothing. "Huh." He took it back "Must be a technical glitch, nothing more. It's not transmitting or anything. You must have jiggled a wire loose or something. It's harmless now."

"As I said, a paperweight."

"Have you finished those equations yet, or do I have to do your work as well as mine?" Rodney snapped. Met her gaze. "What? Did you need something, Moira, or were you just going to stare at me all day?"

"I'm sure she has better things to do than to do that," Radek quipped, "like watching paint dry."

"Yes...I was going to ask you about the mission, but I can see you are busy–"

"Busy? Really? Wow, you think I might be busy just because I have all of this to try to get working plus the computations of the city's latest grid assessments plus the new areas we just opened up on the south side plus the default settings on my DVD player that won't work?" he asked in a sarcastic ranting. "Shouldn't you be tending your supposed husband?" Rodney snorted. "I'm not paying Carson and that's that! Radek!" he called, having dismissed her, "do you have the findings on that detector yet?"

"Fine!" Moira whirled, exited the lab muttering under her breath.

* * *

John swung his legs over the side of the bed. Stood. Flexed his arms, his legs, his back. "I'm going now, Carson. I feel fine. And I have to catch Moira while she's, um, in that mood."

"Are you sure you want to do that, John?" Carson asked.

"Absolutely." He grinned. Headed out of the infirmary but paused as he was intercepted by Elizabeth. "Oh oh."

Elizabeth smirked. "Just the man I need. Come with me. How do you feel?"

"Depends. What do you want?" he quipped, following her to the control room.

"Only your access codes, John," she laughed. "Rodney's rebooting part of the system so we need to initiate it. "Your report on the mission was quite concise. Care to add anything?"

John shrugged. Implemented his codes into the computer next to her. "No. Just your typical run-in with the bad guys. Shoot and kill. Shoot and evade. Get out of Dodge in one piece. Just another day in the Pegasus galaxy."

Elizabeth glanced at him. Curious at his nonchalant tone. His almost bored disregard. "I see. You need to find a replacement for Jameson and Wyles. I was thinking of placing more scientists on our teams instead of so much military. We need their input, John, no matter how much you might prefer a purely militaristic approach to exploring this–"

"Why? I mean, why replace them?"

"They're on the transfer list. Now, I was thinking that perhaps Doctor Brown, or even Doctor Simon. Both need to have more off world experience and–"

"The list? It came out today?" John asked. Dread replacing his former good mood.

"Yes. Just over an hour ago. Revised from the first one I posted. Why?"

"Crap," he noted quietly.

* * *

Moira saw the cluster of people at the bulletin board. Edged her way closer to it. "What is it?"

Katie Brown smiled. "The new list of transfers. Second edition. Lucky for you."

"What? Why?" Moira asked.

"You were on it, but now you're not," Julie Armstrong answered.

"What?" Moira repeated.

"Colonel Sheppard must have pulled some strings to get you off that list," Julie commented.

"Pulled strings? He'd have to do more than that!" Katie corrected, shaking her head. "He would have had to pull in several favors, because the IOA decides this. Not even Weir can change their final decisions. Rodney was telling me that they have very little control over it. It's all down to the IOA and their cronies."

"What? Then how...he...oh my God..." Moira stared at the list. Stunned realization dropping on her like a stone. The reason for his insistence. The speed of their wedding. The reason it had to be done that day. That very day. She was caught between elation and anger.

John made his way across the room, hoping he could head Moira off before she saw the list, or heard about the sudden change to it. He stopped suddenly, as if sensing her tumult of emotion even before she appeared around the corner. Striding right for him. He held up his hands as if in surrender. "Moira, Moira, it's not how it looks! I swear! Okay, it is how it looks but it's not the only reason! I swear! Moira, it's not the only reason I–"

She kissed him. A passionate kiss which completely surprised him. Froze him in place as she grabbed his shoulders. Mouth entangled with his. She pulled back. "That's for going to such extremes to keep us together, to keep me here with you."

"I–"

His relief was cut short when she slapped him. Hard across the face. The sound seemed to reverberate across the room.

"Ow!" He touched his aching jaw.

"That's for not telling me in the first place and now making me think it was the only reason you did it! You son of a bitch!" She whirled, strode out of the room.

Stunned onlookers stared at her, then at John who hadn't moved. Appeared as stunned as they were. "Moira? Damn it, Moira, no!" He pursued her. Followed after her but she sped along to her room, closed the door so quickly he nearly ran into it. He waved it open, entered and shut it behind him. "Moira! You don't understand!"

"Fuck you, John!" she flared, whirling to face him.

"Yes, please do, baby," he retorted with a charming smile. "I'd like nothing better."

"Damn it, John, will you be serious?"

"I am, Moira. I'm always serious about sex," he rejoined.

"John! Was this one of the problems you refused to tell me?"

"Yes."

"Yes? So this marriage is just a, a green card wedding to keep me here for–"

"No! Not at all, Moira."

"When did you find out?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"At the SGC," he explained. "I inadvertently saw the list on Hammond's desk. Saw your name. And I knew, Moira. I knew what I had to do. That very day, or the next."

"And you had to keep it from me?"

"Yes. Because I knew you'd react exactly like this! And get it all wrong."

"Wrong? What part do I not get, John? You only married me to keep me here! With you!" She sighed, sat on the bed. Anger seemingly deflated. "I don't know what to think! Part of me is overwhelmed you love me enough to do whatever it took to keep me with you. Part of me is furious that's the only reason you married me in the first place! Otherwise you never would have proposed, would you? Of course not."

"That's not true." He sat next to her. Took her hands into his. "Moira, I was going to ask you. I was. This intel just, just speeded it along, is all. Made it essential that we do it that day. Before we returned here. That's all. I married you because I love you. I can't risk losing you. Once you had been sent back to Earth you'd be locked in a nightmare of red tape that even I couldn't free you from...not for months. Sweetheart, I couldn't let you go. This was the only way."

"The only way? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew you would react like this. Because you keep doubting me, Moira! You keep doubting my love for you! And I wanted to give you as much romance as I could, which I know isn't much. I'm not that guy, never have been. But I wanted to be that guy for you. I've risked quite a lot for you. That's why we need to keep this low-key for now."

"Oh. I see." She stood, stubbornly refusing to be mollified by his protestations, his anger. "Get out!"

"Huh?" he asked, surprised. Convinced he had soothed things over with her.

"Get out!" she repeated, pointing at the door. "I'm sorry you had to risk so much, John! Lucky for you we can end this sham of a marriage as easily as we created it!"

He frowned. "No. I don't want it to end. Sham? It's a real marriage, Moira. Legal. Binding. You are stuck with me whether you like it or not."

"Just get out, will you? I need to think! Go! You should have given me the choice, John! Maybe I wanted to stay on Earth? Did you ever think of that? You should have–"

"Why? Because you were going to break up with me? Would it have been easier if you had stayed on Earth, Moira? Instead of being here and seeing me every day? Hell, no. I wasn't about to give you that choice! No fucking way. You are my wife now, and you have never been happier, have you? Have you?" he demanded.

"Go! Just go!" she exclaimed.

"I'm going!" He stood. Moved to the door. Turned to her. "I'd do anything for you, Moira! I have! You have no fucking idea what I'm risking here just to keep you with me! I never thought I'd go down this damn road again, but for you I have! Gladly! And I would do it all over again, in exactly the same way whether you were going to be taken from me or not! Once you calm down you'll realize how truly wonderful I am and you'll be all over me!"

"Go!"

"I'm going!" He left. But turned to yell at the closed door, "All over me, Moira! I'll be in the cafeteria waiting!" He stormed down the hallway. Angered. Frustrated. Whirled and returned to the door. Pounded his fist on it. "Moira! I'm protecting you if you'd only realize it! I'll be waiting!"

"Will you just go!" she shouted at the door.

"I'm going! All over me, baby!" He stormed down the hallway again.


	11. Chapter 11

Kin Recognition11

John kept checking his watch, stubbornly waiting in the cafeteria. Resisting the urge to go back to Moira's room. To storm in there and demand that she understand. To order her to understand, to get over her own hangups and insecurities. To explain, attempting to soothe, console. Pissed she still wasn't completely convinced of his love for her. The emotional depth of his feelings. He longed for a beer. For several. But he stoically resisted. Waiting. Waiting.

An hour passed. People avoided him, seeing his foul mood. Quiet conversations sprouted around him, then fell silent as he glanced at them. Glared. Daring them to say something, anything about himself, about Moira. He drummed his fingers on the empty table. Trying to reign in his anger, his impatience. The underlying very real worry that Moira might end the marriage before it had even properly begun. The thought that he could still lose her a shiver along his mind. He dismissed it. Refused to recognize it.

Twenty minutes passed. John felt the tension coiling in every part of his body. He was about to move, to go find her when she walked into the cafeteria, expression unreadable. He watched her grab a bottle of water. Make a determined beeline for him. Oddly nervous he swallowed. But didn't budge. Eyed her with a frown. "Moira."

"John. Come with me. Please." Her tone was mild. Indifferent.

He wondered, but stood. Followed her out of the cafeteria. Past the staring, silent audience. "So..." he asked in the hallway, "am I forgiven?"

"Maybe...but I am still pissed at you."

"Good, because I'm pissed at you," he rejoined. But sighed. "You have to understand–"

"I don't have to do anything, colonel. We'll talk about this later." She turned to him suddenly. So suddenly he nearly crashed into her but caught himself. "Jo-hn," she said in a sing-song voice that surprised and delighted him, "are you by chance wearing the black silk boxers?"

"Wha...what? The...Moira? No. I don't wear those on missions," he smirked, smiled. "I can put them on, baby. Give me five. Are you–"

"Are you going to question me or change your shorts, flyboy? I'll wait outside your door."

"Fine." He sprinted to his room, making her laugh at his enthusiasm. She walked to his door, waited. He emerged a few minutes later, smiling. "Moira. I'm prepped. Please, oh please say you are going to debrief me."

"Maybe, colonel. Are you too injured to–"

"No. Not at all! So...yours?"

"No." She stepped close. Ran her hand up his chest. "The love nest. I want to be loud, sweetie."

He grinned. "The sex room? Perfect, baby. Let's go! I can't wait to see what you have in mind for my hey, this isn't a wind up, is it? I'm not going unless you really do intend for us to have loud, exuberant–"

She kissed him. A passionate, promising movement of her mouth on his. "You are under my purview now, colonel, so move that fine, fine six of yours, would you? Unless you'd rather talk and analyze our respective–"

"Let's go!" He pulled her into a fast walk, making her softly laugh. "Exuberant, yes?"

"Yes, sweetie."

They entered the secluded tower room after a journey crossing several hallways, several levels, using two transporters and some stairs. Moira stared up at the ceiling where colored light danced in response to the sunshine pouring in from the blue, blue sky. The colored rays played along the walls, falling to the floor in diamond-shaped patterns.

John turned to her. Pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately. Kiss after kiss. Sliding his tongue into her mouth. His hands wandered along her body. "My Moira," he wooed, paused. "What's this?" he asked, feeling a satiny fabric under her shirt.

She smiled. "Take off your clothes and you'll find out, sweetie."

He smiled. Kissed her again. "Moira Sheppard."

She kissed him, pulled at his shirt. Slid it up, up off as he aided her. She frowned, running her hands along his lean, muscled torso. The few bruises. "John?"

"I''m fine, baby. You'll make it all better, won't you?"

"Yes, sweetie." She unbuckled his belt as he ran his mouth down her throat. He freed her hair from the ponytail. Ran his fingers through the cascading waves of brown. Caught her mouth again in a lengthy kiss.

Moira unbuttoned, unzipped his pants. Slid her hand in to caress against the silky fabric. "Hmm, colonel, your ordnance is–"

"Getting harder by the second, baby. You better perform a full systems check just to be sure."

She stepped back. "Take off your pants, and lay over there." She pointed to a heap of blankets. She sat to untie her shoes.

He sat, untied his boots. Yanked them off with his socks. Removed his pants. "Moira, do you want–"

"Sex, John. No talking. Not yet. Okay?"

"Fine by me, baby." He sat, staring. Watching her as she stood, removed her pants. Shirt. To reveal a sheer black teddy with a skimpy matching pair of panties that barely covered her rear. "Wow! I never would have guessed black. Where did you–"

She turned to him, smiled at his obvious appreciation. "I did some shopping before you arrived. On my own dime."

"Oh." He stared at the sheer fabric encasing her breasts, opening slightly to reveal her skin. Her waist. The sheer panties just covering her crotch. He shifted. "Could you turn again, baby?" he asked, voice low. Intense.

She did so slowly, smirking at his enjoyment.

"Bend. Lean over, slow now, slowly...ah fuck," he groaned as she complied. The teddy lifted to give him a view of her shapely rear barely encased by the sheer fabric.

She straightened, walked to him. "Do you like this, sweetie?"

"Yes," he smiled, gaze roving.

She pouted, licked her lips. "It's a little tight..." she ran her hands over her breasts. Allowing the fabric to reveal one rosy, hard nipple before covering it again.

John made a sound deep in his throat, becoming increasingly aroused. Itching to get his hands on her. His mouth on her. To be inside her. "Moira."

"Hmm. John, I know how to get you off," she commented, as if this was a scientific experiment and not a seduction. She slid her hands down to the panties. Slipped them lower, lower, stopped to run her fingers down them. Between her legs. "They're wet, John...so wet...do you want to feel how wet?"

"Yes," he hoarsely agreed.

She squatted on him, pushed him onto his back and kissed him. He shoved against her, kissing her hungrily. Moaned as she shifted on him, against his growing erection. "Not yet," she teased. Pulled out a black ribbon from the teddy. Caught his hand as she sat. Took his forefinger and slipped it into her mouth. Sucked. Sucked.

John groaned in delight, anticipation. Growing lust. "Ah, baby. Fuck, oh fuck, that is so hot!"

She freed his finger to move his arm over his head. To tie his wrist to a protruding bar. "I know you like this, John. Are you sure you're up for this kind of kinky sex?"

"Absolutely, baby!" he happily agreed. "I'm really up for it now." He pushed his lower body against hers to demonstrate his words.

She smiled. Slid across to take his other hand. To tie his wrist below the black band next to his other one. John lifted his head to mouth a breast through the sheer fabric. But she pulled back from him, kissed him. Glided down. "I know what turns you on, sweetie. I know how to make you hard, so rock hard it hurts," she teased into his ear. Circled it repeatedly with her tongue, nibbled with her teeth until he moaned. He tested the bonds she had placed on him as she kissed down his throat. Nibbling all the way. His hair billowed around them. A brown, silky curtain.

"Moira," he sighed dreamily, but caution intervened. "Is this um, angry sex? Will I need the safe word, baby?" he asked, half in jest, half serious.

She caressed his chest. Kissing down past the dog tags, the wedding ring glinting in the light. A gold circle against his dark chest hair. She kissed tenderly around the purplish bruise on his side. "You know the safe word, sweetie. Use it if you need it. I want you rock hard, colonel. Coming hard and fast."

"So do I," he agreed, tensing deliciously as she kissed his waist. Ran her mouth straight down but veered onto his thigh. Edging nearer now, the only impediment the boxers still capturing him. Restraining him like the black ribbons on his wrists. "Moira, yes, yes, baby, do it!"

Moira caressed him. Ran her mouth along the boxers. The silky material cool. Melting under her mouth. His warmth and hardness growing, tenting the fabric. He jerked under her, straining. The sexual tension building, building. "Hmm...John, such ordnance! It needs to be carefully maintained..." she purred, fingers sliding intimately to make him jerk, shift. Yank at the bonds holding him. She ran her mouth up the length of him again. Fingers caressing his thigh. Sliding between his legs. "Such equipment, colonel! It's a wonder you can walk around with such heavy, big, hard ordnance," she teased.

"Oh God! Moira, Moira, fuck! Fuck me, baby!" he groaned, tension unbearable. When she circled, circled the head of his cock he nearly tore the bar off the wall. Nearly flung her off as he jerked and thrust, thrust. Swearing loudly. Hating the fabric that separated them. Moira's mouth so warm, so wet, so snug on him.

Moira persisted, could feel him coming, so hard now. So fast. Tight and tense as his body was wired, hungry. Desperate for release. She ran her mouth up and down the length of him again. Circled, circled and took him into her mouth. Pursing her lips, pressing until he arched, moaned loudly. Began to come. Trickling, unable to stop as a spasm shook him.

"Fuck, fuck! Moira, Moira, baby I'm coming too fast! I can't hold it, baby! I can't!" he said in a breathless rush. A growling hunger.

"Easy, honey, I'm sure you can hold it a little longer. Just a little longer, John..." she teased. Ran her mouth up again. Took him in and gently, very gently pressed her teeth on him. Ran them up the fabric.

John bucked, losing it. Groaning loudly. He yanked at the bar so hard the ribbons snapped. The bar bent, producing a wrenching sound that startled Moira. Caused her to bite down harder than she had intended. Causing John to moan in ecstasy, thrusting violently into her, coming wildly now. Moira freed him, nearly fell back in alarm, almost choking. She coughed, lifted to yank off her panties. Her lower body a torment of tightness, of need. She yanked down his shorts and took him into her. She gasped as he thrust, thrust hard.

Moira whimpered, cried out as she rode him, up and down, slowly at first but found herself moving faster, faster. She ran her nails down his chest, his waist. Rocking and gyrating so wildly she feared she might fall off him.

John groaned, swore profusely as the orgasm neared. The intensity astounding. He stared hard as the teddy gaped to reveal a bare breast bobbing with her motions. As their bodies joined, joined in growing frenzy. "Moira! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Harder! Harder, baby, all the way! Tighter! Tighter! Oh God, yes, yes, yes!"

"I'll squeeze your cock if you want, John!" she said in a rush, then whimpered and cried out as the pleasure swept her along. "Oh John! Oh John, John, John!" she nearly screamed. Hair flying all around her. Body writhing, riding his as she came in a stuttering climax.

"Fuck!" John nearly shouted, thrusting up into her hard. Shoving his entire length into her as she leaned backwards, almost falling. Squeezing and releasing in tandem to his every thrust, every grunt.

Moira cried out over and over, his name a musical litany on her breathless lips as she rode, rode, rode him. Orgasms echoing, repeating. She thought she would never stop as he was still so hard, filling every inch of her. She pulled off him suddenly, losing her breath. Fell upon him. "John!" she whispered.

"No, no, no," he insisted. Grabbed her and flung her onto her back. Shoved her legs apart and thrust into her again. Still demanding. Still unsated as he hadn't reached the point of release that he needed, he craved.

Moira cried out again as he brought her once more to the brink. Friction, momentum unbearable. She clung as he greedily kissed her. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth as his cock repeatedly rode her, claimed her. A fast frenzy before he came at last, ejaculating wildly with shudders, spasms rocking his body. He kissed her breasts, flinging the material aside. Greedily circling, sucking until she arched, gasped. "John! Oh John, John, please, please, oh God! John! John!" she begged, pleaded. Body a melting pool of helpless pleasure as he pounded into her a few more times, expending the last of his energy, his need. Moira sobbing, trembling with the abrupt climax as if it would never end. John grunting, straining to take as much as he could before he collapsed in utter exhaustion, in utter happiness upon her.

Moira tried to catch her breath. Stared up through teary eyes at the colored lights. Blinked to clear her vision. The scent of sex, sweat in the warm air. She brushed her hair back from her face. Closed her legs slowly but paused, as John was still inside her. She nudged. Pushed. John a dead weight on her body, breathing deeply. "John? John?"

"Huh? Oh." He slid out of her. Rolled onto his back.

Moira turned onto her side to view him. The colored lights swept along his body. Glinting on the drops of sweat beading his side, his arm. His throat. "John? Are you all right?" She reached around, found the water bottle. Sat to open it, take a long sip. "John? Here."

He propped himself up on his elbows. She tipped some into his mouth. He swallowed the cool liquid. "More," he rasped. She gave him more. Set the bottle aside. A line of water trickled down the corner of his mouth. She leaned close, licked it. Kissed his lips tenderly. He fell onto his back, wiped his sweaty brow. "Damn," he commented.

She moved over him, careful of the bruise. Touched his lips, scruffy jaw. Fingers sliding to play with the dog tags, the wedding ring. "John? Are you okay?"

A smile curved his lips. "Ah baby...what the hell was that?"

"That was sex, sweetie. Gee, you really didn't know?"

"Hilarious, Moira. Damn...you, you nearly fucked the life out of me, baby. I never had such a sustained, intense hard-on and then the fucking orgasm..."

"Didn't I tell you, sweetie?" she asked. Kissing his throat, nuzzling him.

"Tell me what, baby?" he asked, caressing her back.

"Today. Today is spoil John Sheppard with the kind of kinky, wild sex he likes day. Even though you are a bastard."

He smiled. "I like this day, baby. Although I can't even feel my cock again. Are you sure it's not try to kill John Sheppard with sex, day, 'cause I'd be on board for that too. Ow!"

She had hit his arm. "It still may be, colonel, so stand down. I can feel you too, sweetie, or rather where you were with that hard, hard, long ordnance of yours." She kept fingering the ring on the chain. "John..."

"Fuck, even my balls ache with that pleasure," he noted tiredly.

"John!" She hit his arm again.

"Moira, will you marry me? Oh yeah, you already did," he teased. Kissed her.

She sighed. Shook her head. "Another post-coital proposal? You need to work on the romance, sweetie."

He smirked. "But not the sex. We've got that perfect, Moira. Almost perfect."

"Almost?" she asked in outrage.

He laughed. "Almost." He closed his eyes, relaxing.

She shook him. "John! Don't fall asleep! We need to talk now."

He made a pained face, opened his eyes. "Do we? No post-coital talking. Remember?"

She kissed him. Caressed his hair, his jaw. Played with the ring on the chain again. "John, was, was marrying me the only way to make certain I wouldn't be transferred?"

"Yes."

"Yes? Because people assumed you had just pulled some strings or called in some favors," she continued, expression serious.

"No. It wouldn't have worked, Moira. There weren't enough strings to pull. And as for favors, well, let's just say I'm not the IOA's poster boy of the moment right now. So no. Honey, it's not the reason I married you. It's the reason I married you that very day. You see the difference? Why can't you believe me?"

"I, I do believe you, John. It's just, just–"

He kissed her. "It's the reason we had to do it that very day. The reason we have to keep it quiet for now, for a little while."

"But Evan said..." she paused, uncertain.

He frowned. "Evan said. What did Evan say?"

"He...don't get mad, John, but he said there was no military restrictions on you marrying me."

"He's right. But he's not."

"What?"

He sighed. Touched her rosy cheek. "Do we have to get into this now, baby?"

"Yes, sweetie. Tell me, John. I hate it when you keep things from me."

"So I noticed, sweetheart. I'm trying to protect you, Moira. If you'd only let me."

"Protect me? From what?"

He kissed her. "Can't we just have sex again? Oh...maybe in ten...twenty...God, I'm tired!"

She sat, refusing to be drawn into his diversion. "John?"

He scowled. Touched her bare thigh. Eyes on the sheer fabric as it draped her torso. "There are no restrictions, that is true. And if we were anywhere else there would be no problem. But because we are here and I am the military commander of Atlantis...and you are on one of my teams...do you see where I'm going with this?"

She met his gaze. "No."

He closed his eyes, rubbed his brow. "Moira, we have to be careful. Quiet. Low-key. For now. Until all the flak hits me and goes away."

"Flak? I still don't understand, John." He was silent. She frowned. "John! Tell me! You owe me that much!"

"Why? Because you got me off in nearly the most erotic, spectacular fashion? The only thing that could have made it my perfect fantasy was if you had been wet. Dripping water and soap, fresh out of the shower and completely naked. And if my shorts hadn't have been between us." He smiled. "Although I do like that black teddy. Hmm...where are those sodden panties? Ow!"

She had hit his leg. Hard. "John! Tell me! If you love me you will tell me!"

"Fine!" He sat. Kissed her. Pushed her onto her back. Moved over her. Held her arms to the floor. "Moira, should I tie you up this time. Strip you out of this thing? Should I go down on you so fucking deep you'll weep for the sexual pleasure I will give you?"

She struggled weakly. "Just fucking tell me!"

He kissed her. "I'd rather just fuck you," he said hotly into her ear. Nibbled her earlobe. Gently bit as she gasped. As he shoved his body along hers. Feeling her compliant, soft and yielding. But he wasn't ready yet. Not by far after their extravagant coupling. He sat. Eyed the lights. "It's like this, Moira. I have to be careful. I rushed into this. I didn't tell a soul what I was going to do, even before I saw your name on the transfer list. I didn't fill out a single form. I didn't inform any of my superior officers. I never made my intentions known. I have to be careful. Tread a very fine line between being your overzealously protective lover, er, husband and just the military commander of Atlantis."

"Oh." She waited, listening carefully to every word.

"I can't restrict you to the city although that would be easier. Neither can I give you the best assignments, or accede to your wishes. For example, Pleistocene Park. I can't send you there now as there are no viable reasons within the current mission parameters. But we can go, you and I, during our down time, but later. I can't let you go just anywhere, or agree to your suggestions too readily, unless they concur with the protocols or other less, um, partial observers. I can't seem to favor you or to conversely disfavor you. I value your expertise too much to remove you from Lorne's team, and you can't be on mine for obvious reasons. So I need to be careful, and you too, Moira."

"Oh."

"For the moment we have to be very, very low-key, especially during missions. During reports from missions, all of that. A clear demarcation between our private time and our professional time. At least for a little while. Until the flak hits and the IOA gives me hell, as will the SGC, as will the Air Force for not following proper procedures. But I can weather that because we're married now and there's not a damn thing they can do about it. Nothing." He leaned. Grabbed the water bottle and downed the rest. Licked his lips. "It's as much to protect you and your work here as it is to cover my ass and keep my job here."

Moira absorbed it all, lying back on the hard floor, the mess of blankets under her. She pulled the teddy down to cover herself. She fingered the gold chain she wore. Slid the two rings onto her finger. Watched them sparkle vivaciously in the lights. "So...okay. I see. So I shouldn't have done all that before?"

"The kiss? Yes, that was fine. Since we were on down time. The slap? No. That really hurt," he complained. Rubbing his scruffy jaw at the memory.

"Sorry. And I shouldn't have brought you here?"

"No." He turned to her. Kissed her as he moved over her again. "Again, down time. This is fine. This is wonderful." He smirked. "Although you can pull me out of anything, anywhere for sex, baby. Especially exuberant, loud sex."

"John, this is serious! You could have told me!"

"Could I have? Maybe. Maybe not. Moira. Moira Sheppard." He sat. Began to pull on his clothes. "I need to sleep, baby. I'm exhausted. But so fucking happy."

She sat. Pulled on her clothes silently. Mulling his words, his emotions. His pleasure.

He watched her, smiled. "Hey, can I have those?"

"No." She pulled on the skimpy panties, finished dressing to his disappointment.

"Honey, I'm sorry. See? I knew you'd be upset. That's why I didn't want to tell you. Now you're all pissy and upset. Hey, will that lead to more angry, kinky sex?"

"Shut up, John. I'm just tired. Dirty. We need to clean up," she said tiredly.

"You are pissy. I need to sleep first. Yours."

"No."

"No? Moira?"

"Yours, John. You have the better bath."

"I...oh. Oh?" He smiled.


	12. Chapter 12

Kin Recognition12

Moira caught John's arm before they reached the inhabited part of the city. She hugged him, torn between happiness and worry. "John! Oh John, I'm sorry! I'm sorry I put you into this untenable position! You should have told me! You should have let me go!"

"Never." He kissed her, met her sorrowful gaze. "I don't regret any of it, Moira. Nor should you. Except having to tell you. I hate upsetting you, sweetheart."

"Then don't keep things from me, John," she retorted. Sighed. Kissed him. "Let's go. You to yours to sleep. Me to mine to clean up and get a few things. Then I'll meet you in yours, okay?"

"Moira," he said, her resigned tone upsetting him, "it doesn't have to be this way. We can–"

"Can what? Act like we're together? I don't think so, John, not after what you've told me."

"And that's why I didn't want to tell you!" he complained, frowning.

"You should have!" she retorted, but sighed again. Leading him into the hallways. "And it isn't even your fault, is it? All these stupid rules and stuff. John, why is it so very different now? Now that we're married as opposed to being lovers? Because of the legal paperwork?"

"Yeah. But those restrictions were easier to circumvent when we weren't hitched." He caught her hand, stopping her. "Moira, come with me now. To mine."

"No, John." She freed her hand, moved to her room.

John sighed. Cursed to himself. Moved to his room. He sat on the bed, removed his shoes. Weariness washing over him. Physical. Emotion. His muscles protested, suddenly sore now that the euphoria of the sexual pleasure was fading. He smiled, however, recalling Moira's boldness, her exuberance. Her love and desire for him. He pondered what to do. How to make her happy again, to divert her from this topic.

* * *

Moira headed to John's room. Bag slung over her shoulder. Tray in her hands. Thoughts and emotions scattered, struggling between happiness, worry. Between elation and anger.

"Moira! Moira, have you seen John?" Rodney asked, hastening to walk beside her. Glanced with curiosity at her bag, the tray laden with food and drink.

"Yes."

He waited. Frowned. "Well?"

"He's in his room. Resting. Recovering from the mission."

"Oh. His room," Rodney tested. "Interesting. Not yours."

"No. Why would he be in my room?" she snapped. "He's in his."

"No, I meant his, not ours?"

"Yours? You have a room with John? Funny, he didn't mention that," she sarcastically noted.

"No! No, I meant you! You and John! If you still have separate rooms you can't be married, or even engaged, right? I knew he was pulling my leg! I knew it! There's no way Carson is getting his five dollars even if John is trying to connive some kind of prank on me to–"

"Yes, Rodney, it's all about you! This whole thing is all about you! John's a riot, isn't he? Excuse me!"

Moira stomped into John's room. Shut the door behind her. Had to smile as she set the tray on the table. John was sprawled on his back on his bed. Limbs flung in every direction. Clothes askew from their earlier activities. Snoring softly. She smirked, staring at his handsome face. Disheveled hair. Stubbled jaw. Handsome form in repose. The strong, lean lines of his body. Muscles relaxed. Long arms. Long torso. Long legs. She moved to the bathroom to set down her bag. Returned to sit on the bed. Touched his arm. Ran her fingers through his hair. "John? John?" she whispered into his ear. Kissed his full lips. Circled his ear.

John stirred, snorted. Smiled. "Moira?"

"Who else? No, don't answer that, flyboy. Wake up, would you?"

He opened his eyes. "Hey, baby," he said sleepily.

She smiled. Sighed happily. "Oh John...you look so gorgeous, so deliciously unkempt. Good enough to eat. I should have brought some chocolate to dribble on you so I could nibble. No, I should have brought caramel sauce. To dribble and then lick every drop."

His smile broadened. "Moira...damn, baby...sounds good to me. But first I need a–"

"Beer? On the table."

He sat. "Wow. And a–"

"Turkey sandwich? Done. And you need to get cleaned up, colonel. You're a mess. I'll start the bath for you, shall I?"

He stared as she stood, moved to the table. Stole some French fries from his plate and entered the bathroom. He sprang off the bed, moved to the table. "Moira, you know me so well." He drank the beer. Devoured the food, suddenly ravenous. "Moira!" he called round a mouthful, "did you eat?"

Moira came out of the bathroom. Hair loose. Water was running noisily as it filled the tub. "Yes, John. I couldn't wait. I was starving!" She snagged some more fries.

He smiled, raised a brow. "Are you sure you ate?"

She snagged some more. Took a sip of his beer. "Ick. Yes." She returned to check the bath.

"Moira, I found the rings. I'll show you later, okay? Oh crap. We have to talk about that."

She came back out to snag more fries. "Talk about what?"

He smiled. "About how you should be naked in that tub waiting for me. If you love me you would be, Moira," he added, giving her a suggestive look.

"Oh. Okay."

"Wha..." He stared after her as she disappeared into the bathroom. He finished his meal quickly. Downed the beer in hasty swallows. Stripped to his boxers, tossing his clothes carelessly onto the floor. He entered the bathroom. The low lighting was soft, golden. The scent of lavender and jasmine tickled his nose. The bathtub was full of bubbles.

Moira was seated in the water. Back to him as she pinned up her hair. "Hope it's not too girly for you, flyboy," she teased.

He smiled. Stripped off the boxers. "Very girly. I do not want to smell like flowers."

She laughed. "Then I guess I'll bathe alone. They don't have a P90 scent."

"They should." He got in behind her. Sat and grabbed her. She squealed his name as he pulled her onto his lap, laughing as water flew everywhere. "Ah baby, yes oh yes! Squirm, Moira, squirm that pert little ass on me!"

"John!" she laughed, settled on him as the warm water and bubbles soothed. "How's that?"

He kissed her shoulder, reclined to rest his back on the warm tub. "Ah...my body aches, Moira. This feels good. That pert little ass is making me ache in a different way, though."

"Clean up, soldier!" She scooted off him, turning to face him. Only her shoulders and the tops of her breasts were visible as the soap suds concealed her. Her hand ran along his thigh. He moaned. She kissed him, straddled him. His arms slid around her, pulling her closer, closer as he lifted her to see the suds course down her breasts.

"Ah baby, baby, I want to lick every inch of you. Every fucking inch."

Her eyes widened, feeling him beneath her. "John? You–"

He nodded. "Oh yes, Moira. I could take you here, right now. I could take you just like this, or underwater." She slipped off him, dunked him. "Hey!" he spluttered, splashing out of the water as she laughed. Suds streamed down his hair, his face.

"Oh John! I think I like you wet too!" she teased. Scooting but he ran his hand up her thigh. Between her legs. "John!"

"Ah yes, damn..." He kissed her. Tongue probing as his fingers did the same. Making her squirm, churn the waters around them. "My Moira. I cannot wait to get inside you. To bring you over and over and over."

She shoved his hand off her. Touched his chest. "Get clean, solider."

"I'd rather be dirty, baby. Very, very dirty. Stand up. Please. Please, Moira." His green eyes sparkled with merriment, with desire.

She frowned. "You know I hate it when you look at me like–"

"Oh, I know. I know." He smiled. Tilted his head in a flirtatious manner. Voice low. Possessive. Endearing.

"You are such a son of–"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, just stand up for me, baby."

She sighed. Kissed him. Stood slowly. John watched intently, his gaze smouldering, sensual. Raking over her as water and suds dripped from her naked skin. Slid from her breasts, her waist, her hips, between her legs, her thighs, her rear as she turned away, turned back. Knowing what he wanted, what he liked but uncomfortable nevertheless. "John..."

He scooted to her. Cupped his hands full of water as he stood. Dripped the water over her breasts, then between her legs, rinsing the suds. Moira shifted, aroused, embarrassed. Body tightening in response. Allured by the sight of his own naked body doused in water and suds. Soapy bubbles sparkling in the dark hair of his chest, his arms, his legs, between his legs where his obvious interest in her protruded. He moved to his knees, splashing water. "Moira," he growled. He kissed up her wet thigh. Higher. Higher.

"John, no, John, oh John," she whimpered, losing her breath as his mouth slid across her wet skin. Sliding intimately, licking the water. Sucking. Caressing the folds as he searched. She shoved him back, almost fell but he was standing now, dripping wet. Pulling her against him, against his very hard erection. Kissing her hard, deep. Hands sliding, slipping round to squeeze her rear. She squirmed, moaned. Thighs parting. "John! John, John, oh John!"

He stepped out of the tub, taking her with him. "Wrap."

"We need to dry off before–"

"Wrap!" he ordered, hoisting her up and onto the counter so suddenly she grabbed his arms, shoulders. Nearly squealing. Her feet flew off the floor.

"John!" she gasped, wrapping her legs around him as he kissed her. Hard. Ran his stubbled skin roughly over her throat to her earlobe. To gently bite, startling her again. She murmured, squirming as he nibbled down her throat. Ran his tongue down to her wet breasts. Sucking. Licking. The rough texture of his tongue playing over her sensitive nipples. She arched, moaning, whimpering. Tensing in the surrender to his possessive, aggressive demands until he bit, pulled, bit again. "Ow!"

He pulled back, freeing her nipple. Smirked. "Sorry," he said gruffly, sounding more amused than contrite. He entered her with a hard thrust. Moira squirmed, slipping on the counter, falling backwards but John grabbed her rear, squeezed. Thrusting into her. Kissing her repeatedly until he broke away to groan loudly.

"John! Ssh! Oh John!" she cried as the friction mounted, mounted.

Thrust after thrust, pounding her into the counter until he grunted. Slid out of her. "Hold on."

"You oh!" He lifted her, carried her to the bed. Dropped her onto it. She scrambled but he moved over her, on her, in her as he took her again. "John! Oh John!" She tried to lower her voice, becoming inarticulate as he created a swift momentum. The bed rocking under them.

"Come on, come on, baby, you always come oh God that is so sweet! Fuck me, Moira, as tight as you can, baby, harder!"

"Quiet! John, geez, what is your oh John, almost, John!" she gasped as he thudded into her. Moira grabbed onto him. Her mouth sliding down his throat as he thrust, thrust, coming in a shudder. "John! John!" she whimpered, muffling her voice on his skin. Nearly crying out in excruciating longing until the orgasm slammed into her. Pleasure sharpened, swirling. She cried out repeatedly as he thrust, thrust, taking her with ruthless precision now. Groaning in relief as he came. "John! John, please!" she whispered, writhing.

John smiled, unable to stop. He slid his fingers under her, hoisting her up, up as she arched, clawing at his arms uselessly. Grabbing her rear, sliding all over her. Finding every spot to give her maximum rushes of sensation, even as he filled her, as she took all of him into her. Shuddered with the crash of release. He freed her, let her drop to the bed. Fell upon her with a long, satisfied moan of pure male possession. "Ah fuck! Fucking sweet, my Moira. So much for being quiet, baby, damn. I couldn't stop. Those sounds you make. They keep me going, so fucking hard. So lush...I want to take every inch of you, baby."

Moira hit his arm as he lay upon her. "Damn it, John! Don't make me so loud! What the hell was that? All that, that biting and you, you, you–" she spluttered, hot and flustered. Body thrumming with sexual pleasure, satisfaction.

He lifted. Kissed her. A slow, loving kiss as he slid out of her. He leaned to fling a blanket over their wet, naked bodies. "Shut up, Moira. You loved every single second of how I took you." He moved half over her. Held her close, settling. "God I'm so tired," he sighed. Smug.

"Damn it, John! Must you always push and push!" she complained. Hit him again. "You make me so–"

"Satisfied? I bring you climax after climax, baby, and I will again." He rolled onto his back, pulled her on top of him. "I still want to tie you up and go down so deep you'll–"

"No!" She squirmed, but settled as he kissed her brow. Arm holding her in place. "Will you put that damn ordnance away, colonel?"

He laughed. Enjoying her chagrin. "Hell no, Moira. My mercurial Moira. Such a fantastic fuck too."

"Shut up, John! You, you...you..."

"I leave you speechless, don't I, baby? You've never had such blissful pleasure in your life, have you? Go to sleep. You are staying here tonight. My wife. My bed. Mine."

She moved but his arm tightened on her. "John! You, you–"

He kissed her. "As much as I enjoy your squirming, baby, it's time to go to sleep. Intense, escalating passion and sex, Moira. Have you noticed if hasn't stopped? Ever since the wedding we've been having the most intense orgasms."

"You, you...you..." she stammered, still overcome, astonished by his seductions. His skills. His male possession of her repeatedly.

"Moira, sleep." He closed his eyes. "You can hate me later, baby. If you can walk, that is," he snorted his amusement.

"Hilarious, John! What the hell was–"

"Sex, as you so helpfully explained to me earlier. Oh! Didn't I tell you? It's bring Moira Sheppard to tears of ecstasy night. And we've only just started."

She sighed, but happily. Snuggled as he rolled onto his side, pulling her close to him. She kissed him, closing her eyes. "Oh! The rings?"

"Later, baby. Sleep." He was already drifting into a pleasantly drained slumber.

"Sweetie...John...you..." She fell silent, secure in his arms. In his bed. In his love.


	13. Chapter 13

Kin Recognition13

Moira woke. She freed herself from John's embrace as he softly snored. Sat to view the room. It was swathed in darkness. City lights gleamed dully outside of the window. The waves below could be heard, a gentle swishing as the waters ebbed and flowed along the pier. She looked at the clock. The bluish numbers reading three in the morning. She slipped off the bed. Quickly moved to the bathroom. Cleaned up, pulled on her clothes. Grabbed her bag, stuffing the bottle of bubble bath into it. She stepped out to hear John shifting on the bed.

John reached. "Moira?" He yawned, sitting. Blinked. Scanned the darkness of his room.

She moved to him. Kissed him as she sat near. "John, go back to sleep."

"Where...hey..." he fingered her clothes, "you don't have to leave, sweetheart. We're married, remember?" He gave her a sleepy, lopsided smile.

She smiled, but grew solemn. "I do have to leave, John. Discretion, remember? And at this hour I shouldn't encounter anyone when I have to run down those two fucking hallways."

"Moira," he sighed, "I haven't had time to arrange our living quarters yet. Hell, we haven't even discussed it!"

"It doesn't matter, John. Under the radar, right?" She stood. "I've got to go now before I'm seen."

"Why? No doubt you were heard." At her scowl his smile faded. "Moira, stay the night."

"I can't, John. It's like before, you know. I can't let someone see me like this. Like Moira O'Meara just had sex with Colonel Sheppard and has to steal away from his bed."

"Sheppard! Moira Sheppard just had sex with colonel, with me, damn it!" He made to get up but she headed for the door.

"Oh right. Sorry, I forgot. Gee, is that low-key enough for you, sweetie?"

"Damn it, Moira!" he flared. "I explained–"

But she was gone, striding out of his room. He sighed, swore. Waited. One minute she was indulging him, giving him everything he could ever desire, the next castigating him for the very same thing. Or for the need of discretion over their marriage. He jumped off the bed, pulled on a blue t-shirt, gray sweat pants. Carried his running shoes and made his way to her room.

He walked quietly to her bed. Set his shoes on the floor. Moira was asleep on her side, cuddling in the blankets. A pale green nightshirt clothing her. John smiled. Slid in next to her. Spooned against her, his arm sliding over her waist. "Moira," he whispered into her hair. She stirred, but did not awaken. He closed his eyes, getting comfortable.

Moira was caught in a delicious dream. A dream with John. So vivid she could feel him next to her. His warmth. The solid feel of his body. She woke suddenly, rolled onto her back. Startled. "John? John!" She shook him.

He blearily viewed her. Smiled. "Hey, Moira."

"What are you doing here?"

"Sleeping. Or I was. I told you I wanted to spend the night with you. Moira Sheppard," he stressed the last name. "You can't break up with your husband, Moira."

She sighed. He caressed her side. Fingers running along the pale green fabric. "I'm sorry, John. It's been very, very stressful. Confusing. But wonderful too! Half the time I don't know what to feel, what to think."

"I noticed," he agreed. Kissed her. His fingers slid down to her thigh. Pushing the nightshirt up, up her leg.

She caught his hand. "John, I'm serious."

"So am I, baby. Always serious about sex." He moved his hand higher. Between her legs. "No undies...perfect...just perfect...so sweet..."

"John! Listen to me!" She pushed his hand away but he touched her side. Nuzzled her throat.

"I'm listening, baby. Go on," he said along her skin. Breath hot on her throat.

She stroked his arm as his hand slipped up to clasp, caress a breast. "I know you explained, and I get it, I guess. I mean, you, you weren't this paranoid when we were lovers. Not after we lost our discretion."

"We are lovers, Moira. And I wasn't paranoid. I prefer my privacy. Our privacy. I'm not paranoid now. Just...cautious."

"It doesn't matter, John. The only thing that matters is that you love me. Still want me. Still need me," she decided. Fingers sliding to his chest as he moved her onto her back.

"Yes to all three, honey," he assured. Kissing her gently. He tugged up the nightshirt. "And you feel all that for me?"

"Yes, sweetie."

He kissed her. A long, passionate entanglement of his mouth with hers. His tongue gliding in before he trailed it along her throat. Nibbled her earlobe until she murmured weakly. Moving under him. He rolled off, up, removing his shirt. Wiggling out of his pants. He moved back to her, slid up the nightshirt to her shoulders. "Moira." He caressed her breasts, cupping. Fondling gently. "You have such beautiful tits, so fucking beautiful my mouth waters for them."

"Lovely, John, geez! You are not–"

"I am serious, baby," he assured. Ran his mouth along them. Kissing, licking as she squirmed beneath him. Her legs parted in welcome, in invitation. "It's a crime to cover them up," he muttered. Moved lower, lower.

"John, John, no, no, John, you can't," she warned, breathless, pulling at his shoulders. "John, don't!" she insisted, but he ignored her. Kissing along her inner thigh. Hand on her opposite thigh. Rough scruffy cheek scratching her tender skin in an arousing play of desire. Fingers stroking her other thigh.

John slid up, fingers plying, probing. He smiled. "I just can't get enough, baby. Now that you are Moira Sheppard." He entered her slowly, leisurely. Taking his time to build the friction into a delicious anticipation.

"Oh John, John, I always want you, I always want you," she breathed, sighing dreamily as she moved slowly with him. Surrendering to this exquisitely slow, gentle passion. Feeling every inch of him sliding in, sliding out. His body dancing along hers, intimately.

"Moira," he said huskily. Kissing her breasts as she arched in reaction. Moving a little faster, a little harder but still taking his time. Feeling every fold, every part of her taking him, releasing him, taking him again. He caught her hands, splayed them with his. Pushed them up over her head. He kissed her deeply, creating a consistent rhythm. Slowly gaining momentum. "Ah, baby, tighter now. There, oh there, baby...God that feels so good! So good in your sweet, sweet center. Tighter now," he instructed. Warm gaze locked with hers.

Moira lost herself in his passionate gaze. Brilliant green eyes smouldering with love, lust. In the delicious motions of his body in hers, on hers. As he drove them towards the brink with slow but steady intentions. Making love with her. "John, oh John, oh John," she whispered. The pleasure circling, swirling. The orgasm close, closer now. Her hands tightened on his. She turned her head from his kisses. "I...I might bite you..."

He gently laughed at her chagrin. "Bite away, honey. Damn. I should have brought the chocolate sauce, or the caramel."

She met his gaze, kissed him. "Yes, you should have, John. Oh John," she breathed, arching, squirming. "Faster, John, faster! Harder!" she urged.

"I was hoping you'd want that," he agreed. Increasing momentum. Speed.

"John, John, make the headboard rattle!" she ordered, trying to free her hands.

"As ordered, baby. Hold on tight!" He kissed her, not letting go of her hands. Thrust deeply, quickly. Rocking them until the headboard began to slam, slam against the wall.

"John! Oh John, John, John!" Moira enthused in a strained voice as the climax took her, threw her into a wild pool of pleasure. She moaned, fingers digging into his as their hands remained entwined. Locked.

"Fuck! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" he groaned, coming with a shudder. Releasing the tension to spill inside her. He exhaled happily, sated, and rested on her. Sliding out after a moment. "Moira. My own sweet Moira. Do you think sex is better in my bed or in ours?"

"John, that was incredible! You, you..huh? Ours?"

He smiled. Kissed her. "This bed is ours, baby. You think I'm going to give up this bed? No way. I wish we could have that hotel bed, though."

"It's all about the bed, isn't it, sweetie?" she teased, caressing his arm. His shoulder. Stroking his hair as he settled on top of her.

"Yes. This was all an elaborate ploy just to secure this bed for myself. I only married you for this bed, Moira."

She laughed softly. "I knew it!"

"And for your beautiful tits."

She hit him. "John!"

He laughed. "And for that sweet, sweet center."

"John!"

"And especially for that pert little ass."

She sighed. "You need lessons in romance, sweetie. You have a serious deficiency in that department."

He laughed against her skin. "And for that mouth of yours, sweetheart. The things you say, and do with that mouth, that luscious mouth. Better?"

"Yeah, sweetie, that was really romantic," she caustically commented.

"Just call me Mr. Romance. No, Colonel Romance."

She laughed. "Sorry, John, not even Captain Romance after those remarks."

"Oh?" He smiled, lifted his head to kiss her. "Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'm staying the whole night. Hallways be damned." He rolled onto his side.

She kissed him, snuggling against him. "Stay with me, John. Just for tonight."

"For every night, Moira," he assured. "Don't you worry, baby. I'll take care of things. Of everything. Of you. My Moira."

* * *

John woke. The sunlight hit his face, causing him to squint as he eyed the room. He stirred. Smiled as he was on his back. Moira sprawled on top of him, fast asleep. He kissed her, gently moved her off him and slipped out of the bed. He pulled on his clothes, shoes. Left her room and jogged to his own room. To shower, shave. Put on fresh clothes.

Moira rolled, reaching. She woke. Yawned and sat. Brushed back her messy hair. "John?" She looked over as the door opened. Stared as John entered bearing a tray. He closed the door, set the tray on the table. He smiled, moved to sit on the bed.

"Morning, Moira." He kissed her.

She smiled. "Wow. Breakfast? Okay, sweetie, maybe Captain Romance. Maybe."

"What if I add this?" He showed her a bottle of chocolate sauce. Grinned, quirked his brow. "For later consumption."

She laughed. "Back to the sex guy already?"

"You mentioned chocolate sauce, baby. You wanted to nibble every part of me, remember?"

She kissed him. "Hilarious, John. Besides, I haven't decided." She slipped out of the bed, pulling the nightshirt to cover her. Moved to the table. "Ooh! Pancakes!"

"Decided what?" he asked, joining her. He sat across from her. Grabbed his plate as she began to eat.

She pointed her fork at him, smiled. "Whether chocolate or caramel would be smoother on your cock." He laughed, nearly choked on his waffle. She laughed at his startled reaction. Sipped some juice. Tilted her head. "Seriously, John. I'm not sure which one would be the most effective, or taste better in terms of gliding along your very hard, very long ordnance, or would most facilitate my going down on you which you seem to desire above all other sexual acts. John, are you all right?"

John was coughing, laughing, choking all at once. Her serious voice, expression causing even more hilarity. He coughed. Held up a hand to silence her. Drank some juice. Drank more. Wiped his eyes. "Fuck! Moira, are you trying to kill me? Here I am trying to be all romantic and crap and you go and say that to me!"

She laughed. "Sorry, John, but I am serious. Serves you right, flyboy, for your own deliberate seductions to make me loud!"

"How about both?" he suggested, recovering.

"Shut up." Once they were finished she stood. Slid onto his lap. Legs primly closed together as she sat sideways. She kissed him. "Thank you, sweetie."

"Hmm. If you really wanted to thank me, Moira, you would always turn around and lift your–"

"No." She touched the cuts on his cheek. The bruise on his jaw.

"Scoot." He gently pushed her off him.

She stood. "I guess we should get to work," she sighed. Moved but he caught the hem of her nightshirt, stopping her. "John? Forget it, colonel. There's no chocolate or caramel on the menu. Besides, I haven't decided yet which one to use so just..." She turned to him, paused.

John had moved to one knee. Held up a little red box. "Moira, will you marry me?"

"I...I..."

"Is that better? At least we're both clothed. Right?" He opened the box. "These were the bands I chose. What do you think?"

"I..." She moved to her knees in front of him. Took the box and stared at the gold rings. One was studded with diamonds. "They, they are so beautiful!"

"Are you going to answer me?"

"What? Oh..." She smiled. "Didn't I already marry you, colonel?"

"Oh yeah, you did. But you seem to be hung up on the whole proposal thing."

She closed the box. Handed it back to him. Kissed him. "Well, yes."

"So...the rings?"

"Do you want to replace the ones we already have?" she asked.

He shrugged. Stood, drawing her up to her feet with him. "No. Not unless you want to. I was thinking we could save them for later."

"Later? Oh, you mean for another wife in another galaxy?"

"Hilarious, Moira. No. Ours. If you want to do the whole thing over again. Later."

She shrugged. "I don't. Unless you do." She kissed him. "Go. Thank you for breakfast. I need to get dressed, get to work. You know how the military commander of Atlantis is very strict."

He smiled. "That he is, baby. You may need to be disciplined later. Slacking off and having wild, wild sex with your husband instead of working." He kissed her. "Moira...are we, are we okay, then?"

She smiled. "Yes, John. We're okay. Now go," she urged, gently pushing him. "Discretion?"

"Yes, sweetheart. For now. Discretion."


End file.
